


OVEREXPOSED

by dumpling23



Series: OVEREXPOSED [1]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Exploitation, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Femslash, Fluff, Praise Kink, also jill is kind of evil, but are we really surprised, but wbk, christen and tobin aren't completely useless in this one, corporate is evil, except regarding each other, it gets smutty later on, it's my OTP against the world, the uswnt is poor, this is darker than my last fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:33:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24112861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumpling23/pseuds/dumpling23
Summary: AFTER THEIR FAILURE AT THE RIO OLYMPICS, the USWNT ticket and merch sales have dropped to an all-time low. In order to save the team from massive budget cuts, (the tyrannical) Jill Ellis, who has noticed the commercial success of Krashlyn — Ali Krieger and Ashlyn Harris — is urged to create another relationship out of two team members.Jill's first choice is obvious — Christen Press was responsible for their team's failure, and this would be a fitting punishment — but her second choice rocks Christen's world: Tobin Heath.It's Tobin and Christen together against the world, and no one can stop them.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Series: OVEREXPOSED [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880914
Comments: 122
Kudos: 438





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my second fic everybody. Glad to have you here.
> 
> This work is VERY different from my last: this fic occurs in an AU (with the same timeline) and begins in 2016 shortly after Christen messes up the Olympics. In this AU, Krashlyn is adored by the media, and the WNT literally profits off of the popularity of their relationship.
> 
> Jill wants to simulate this by putting Christen and Tobin into a relationship so that the WNT can become popular again. Christen and Tobin are contractually obligated to do interviews, photoshoots, and advertisements together to make money for the team.
> 
> TL;DR, this AU is horrible and exploits/fetishizes LGBT+ people and relationships... oh wait we already do that IRL. Huh.
> 
> Anyway, I'm VERY excited about this concept and I hope that this explanation hasn't driven you away. I don't see many dystopian Women's Soccer RPF fics, so I thought I'd make my own, starring my favorites, Christen and Tobin.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Xoxo,  
> dumpling23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, this is a little different, the prologue is in Jill's POV. Or maybe I should say, EVIL Jill's POV. In this fic, she's wildly self-centered and kind of psycho...
> 
> Anyway, let's get into it!

"WE'RE REALLY IN A TIGHT SITUATION HERE." Jill watched the marketing team as they shuffled around papers before her eyes. "Two months now, all losses by at least 10 percentage points, every category. Merch sales, ticket sales, website hits... we're hemorrhaging money as we speak."

"I... I can see that." Jill didn't quite know what to say to this.

"The USSF is going to cut your funding."

Jill wasn't shocked by this. It'd happened before. As much as she didn't want to know, she had to ask, "By how much?"

"Jeez, with these numbers... I'm going to have to estimate at least a 20% budget cut for the entire program."

"Twenty-freaking-percent?!" Jill couldn't even imagine what a 20% budget cut would do to her salary. She'd be screwed. 

"And that's best-case scenario."

"You have to be kidding me," Jill reasoned. "Come on, this has to be some sort of joke. Up until Rio we'd been turning a profit every month!"

"You're losing big sponsors, Jill... _fast_. No one wants to sponsor the losers. And that's what you all are."

She had nothing to say to this.

It was true.

"The only things that are selling right now are Ali Krieger and Ashlyn Harris jerseys," one of the marketing executives pointed out. "Everyone loves them. You see those two everywhere, on every channel: ABC, NBC, ESPN... I could go on, but you've seen it, you know how it is."

"What are you saying? What do you mean by this?" Jill asked.

"What we're saying is... we have a proposition for you. You see how successful Krashlyn is. Why don't you... I mean, this is just a tiny little idea here, but what if you... made another Krashlyn?"

"You think I should... engineer a relationship?"

"Why not? It's harmless! The media's all white lies anyway. Who cares if there's another one circulating?"

Jill thought about this. As wrong as it was, it was the only way the team could get out of this mess. "I... fine. Who were you thinking of?"

"We were thinking Horan and Pugh, but... they seem a little young. Especially that Pugh girl."

"Jeez, she's in high school, not Pugh," chimed in another marketing member. "But how about Press? She's old enough and she's responsible for all of this. Have her take responsibility. And thank God she's something to look at. It'll be easier to believe this way."

"Here's the fun part," said another, " _you_ get to choose her other half. Choose wisely, Jill."

Immediately, a name came to Jill's mind. "Heath."

"Tobin Heath?"

"Yes."

"She's... I-I don't know, I don't know if she's the right material..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jill challenged.

"What we're saying, Jill, is that we were thinking someone with... with the looks. Christen's a very pretty girl. You know. Someone like, uh, that... Julie Johnston."

"It's Heath or nothing. She's going to be FIFA Player of the Year this year, I can feel it. You're right, Heath might not be the standout appearances-wise, but she's good enough, and with her gameplay, she's worth it," Jill argued. 

"All right, you make a point. It's settled then."

"We need a catchy name, then... something like Krashlyn. Got any ideas, Jill?"

It didn't take long for Jill to come up with it—

"Preath."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little disclaimer because I feel like it will be misconstrued: I do NOT think this way about Tobin at all, she's a very attractive woman! I also do not condone reducing any of the players to their looks but you know, corporate will be corporate. I hope this doesn't deter you from reading.


	2. You Are Stuck With Me, so I Guess I'll Be Sticking With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title song for this chapter (yes, this practice is a little pathetic, but who cares) is "Stuck with Me" by The Neighbourhood. I'm surprised I didn't use any of their songs in my last fic because they're one of my favorite artists.
> 
> This chapter occurs in October 2016, and unlike my last fic, Tobin and Christen's relationship begins on relatively good terms. However, it's meant to be written in the same style with similar pacing to the last fic. 
> 
> I'm also so thrilled by the positive response, I totally wasn't expecting it! It was also great to see some familiar users in my comments and kudoses :)
> 
> I don't want to keep you any longer, so let's get on with the story, shall we?

THIS WAS IT. Christen could feel it coming.

Jill was about to kick her off the team.

She'd had a good run: she had a bit more to go to reach 100 caps, but she'd scored quite a few goals in her time with the WNT. Maybe she'd get picked up by Tyresö again, or play for another country. She certainly couldn't play any more NWSL games; it would be far too embarrassing. But from 2013 to now, she'd had a pretty successful career overall representing her home country.

Of course, with the exception of the fiasco that had occurred in Rio de Janeiro.

It still made her feel sick thinking about it even months later. 

The image still kept her awake at night sometimes — it was ingrained in her memory, of course, like all the traumas of soccer that had occurred in her past — and she couldn't remember a day where she didn't think of it.

It was haunting her.

She swallowed hard as she approached Jill's office.

_Christen, I swear, if you cry in front of Jill..._

Christen had a bit of a reputation of being a crybaby. 

But to her surprise, when she opened the door, not only was Jill present, but Tobin Heath was there, too.

Tobin Heath. Where to begin? Even though she was just a half a year older than Christen, Christen looked up to Tobin like a role model. Tobin was on fire these days — the Player of the Year award was hers for sure — and there was no sign of her stopping. As much as she didn't want to admit it, Christen was a bit of a Tobin fan. Which was weird, because they played together.

Well, maybe not anymore.

Tobin was slouched in her chair with her legs apart, just like how she always sat. She said nothing to Christen as she closed the door and went to sit down next to her.

"Well, gang's all here... what's this about?" Tobin began after a short silence. Despite her chillness, Tobin had a tendency to be impatient.

"Girls... I don't want to have to do this to you." Jill's voice was halting and sympathetic, a tone which Jill Ellis never took.

 _Oh, jeez. Lay it on me, Jill. Just tell me,_ Christen thought to herself.

"Just... sign these, would you?" Jill requested, pushing two seemingly identical stacks of paper toward her players.

"What are these, new contracts?" Tobin asked.

"Um, sort of," said Jill vaguely.

Christen quickly grabbed hers off the table and started flipping through it. She could hardly believe the contents. To summarize, Jill was forcing her and Tobin into an "engineered relationship."

Did that mean they were... fake dating?

"Jill, tell us what's going on here," demanded Tobin as she did the same as Christen. "What the hell is this? It's ridiculous! You think I'd go for someone like Press? She's so... you know, sensitive."

"Uh, hi, I can hear you," Christen mumbled to her. Tobin's words stung; she wished Tobin didn't think of her that way, but it was kind of true. 

"You've seen how commercially successful Krieger and Ash are... come on, you guys, you're our only chance to save the team. We're going to suffer a crazy budget cut either way, but if you two create some buzz with the media yourselves, we might be able to save a chunk of your salaries."

"Can't we just fight harder for equal pay?" Christen suggested, even though she knew she was in no place to argue with Jill.

"To do that, we need a legal team, a stronger one than we have now. And to get that A-lister legal team, we need the cash. I mean, to be frank with you two... we're practically broke."

Christen searched the document desperately for dates. How long would they have to do this?

"Until the World Cup 2019 is over? We have to, to fake date... for three years?"

"It's either that or you lose your job, Press. Your call," Jill hissed. "You do know I'm doing this to you specifically for how you cost us the Olympics, right?"

Christen nodded sullenly. It was her punishment. 

"Why me, Coach? I get Press, but me?" 

"If you don't agree to this, Heath, you're going to lose your FIFA Player of the Year Award. And every other accolade you're planning on receiving this year. We'll just give it all to Carli. And God knows she doesn't need a bigger head than she already has." Jill handed the two of them pens. "Come on, you two, if you don't go through with this, it really could be the end of the Women's National Team."

"You're kidding. We're _that_ broke? This is insane," said Tobin.

"I said the same thing myself, but we're losing major sponsors left and right, and we've got no other choice but to drum up advertising ourselves. If you sign these today, I could get you two an TV ad with Adidas in a couple of weeks."

"Could you at least give us some time to think about it? This is a major decision here."

"I'm afraid we really don't have the time for that. I mean, come next calendar year, we could be gone altogether."

Tobin leaned toward Christen and spoke to her in a low voice."Whaddya think, Christen... should we do this?"

"Do we even really have a choice?"

Tobin laughed at this. "You're right."

"Also, think about it this way... we could totally expose Jill for this after the contract is over," Christen whispered. Tobin raised her eyebrows at this. Christen made a point. This had the potential to become a huge scandal — Jill was openly exploiting her players, which had to be some sort of violation — and then they could finally cut Jill out of the picture. It was smart.

"So, girls, we got a deal?" Jill chimed in.

Tobin and Christen nodded slowly.

"Well then, girls, you know what to do. Sign on the 'X,' yeah?"

They did as they were told.

Tobin winked as she and Christen looked each other in the eyes and shook hands.

Christen could hardly fight back a smile.


	3. I Don't Know What to Say to You (You're Always on My Mind)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a TOTAL coincidence that chapter 3 of my last fic and of this fic are both titled with Wallows lyrics. This is "1980s Horror Film." Mmm this is a good song to listen to while you stare off into space.
> 
> The block quote at the start of this chapter is meant to be an excerpt from a reporter on TV: Jill's let the public in on Preath, so now Tobin and Christen are getting bombarded online.
> 
> I think in this (lengthy) chapter you'll see how differently Christen thinks of Tobin in this one compared to the last fic. I am also promising some Tobin POV in my next chapter.
> 
> I'm so glad everyone's enjoying this so far! Let's keep going now...

> _A new report says that there's another couple on the rise on the U.S. Women's Soccer Team; Head Coach Jill Ellis has just revealed superstar Tobin Heath and up-and-comer Christen Press are in a relationship! Could this be Krashlyn 2.0? More juicy details will be revealed after the break — don't go away._

CHRISTEN SPENT HER WHOLE WEEKEND IGNORING HER FAMILY'S CALLS. It seemed that just minutes after she and Tobin had signed away their rights, Jill called up every national news outlet she could get a handle on to give them the scoop. Christen didn't quite know what to say to her family, but it seemed that they'd found out themselves from just a quick internet search.

It was working, though. Christen hated when Jill was cocky, but she hated it even more when Jill was cocky and right. "Preath" was taking social media by storm; "Tobin Heath" was trending on Twitter, with its peak position at #3, and "Christen Press" wasn't far behind. It felt weird; was this how Ashlyn and Ali had been received?

Christen turned the TV off. She'd seen enough reporters break this same story, each time slightly different, but with the same sensationalization. Part of her wished she'd never signed the contract. A large part of her.

There was a silver lining to it, though — people actually started to pay attention to her. Christen always had to fight to be noticed, whether it be in her own family (she was a middle child, after all), on all her club teams, in college, and especially now. That was why she'd strive for perfection. If she was perfect, people were bound to see her.

But she wasn't, and it was all too obvious. She still had a long ways to go if she wanted to reach perfection.

Another good outcome of this was that Tobin would text her more often. She'd had Tobin's number in her phone for years now, obviously, but they never texted each other one-on-one. And now, whenever she saw Tobin's name pop up on her phone, Christen would suddenly become aware of her own heartbeat. Tobin had that effect.

Christen almost jumped when she heard her phone ring. She took a breath, preparing herself for it to be Tobin, which seemed likely, but no. It was Jill. Christen let out a heavy sigh before she picked up.

"Hi, Jill, how are you?" Christen said politely. She was always polite. Even to people she wasn't particularly fond of.

"Jeez, Christen, _much_ better thanks to you two. The marketing team called me up just now and said that they already see an uptick in numbers. It's great. We're getting the response we need." Jill's wicked enthusiasm made Christen feel a little sick to her stomach. She didn't want to hear about how her coach's evil scheme was working. Christen didn't want anything to do with this massive public lie.

"Oh, that's nice," she finally managed to croak.

"And now, as promised... I've got you and Tobin an ad spot for Adidas! It's a photoshoot. They want you to go to their Boston office on Tuesday. I think it's a _great_ jumping-off point for Preath, yeah?"

Christen hadn't expected Jill to turn around with a job this quickly. Jill usually wasn't the best at sticking to her word. But she had this time. "Wow, I... yeah, that sounds awesome!"

"I really didn't think we'd see this much interest this soon, especially after... you know," Jill said listlessly.

Christen knew what she was talking about. Jill brought it up almost every time Christen stepped on the field. The Olympics, the Olympics, the Olympics. It followed Christen everywhere she went. 

"You know what? I've got to hop on a call soon — could you pass this message along to Heath for me?"

"What? Oh, I—"

"Thanks, Press. All right, I'll talk to you later, bye!"

Jill hung up.

Christen could finally breathe.

But now she had to text Tobin the news.

This was going to prove itself a challenge.

It wasn't that she necessarily had a crush on Tobin Heath. Well, maybe a little bit. It couldn't be helped; Tobin was so funny and had this inexplicable chillness to her that Christen just happened to find quite attractive. And Jesus, not to mention her body.

Okay, so maybe it was more than a little bit.

Christen had been suppressing it, keeping it down for years. To be completely honest, she'd first taken notice of Tobin when they were back in college at the 2009 NCAA championships. She'd obviously heard of Tobin before, but that was when Christen first caught eyes with Tobin Heath. That was when it all started.

She remembered the game like it was yesterday. December in Texas was nothing like December in California; in Texas, it was cold, wet, and uncomfortable. Christen played the game wearing gloves. She remembered that Tobin was fast, but she was faster, which brought her some satisfaction, but she couldn't keep up with Tobin's footwork. The nutmegs she'd been warned about were _real_ , and so well-executed.

Christen had been absolutely blown away.

It was still true now. Christen took pride in the fact that she was pretty much the fastest player on the USWNT roster right now; Ali was the only one who was faster. But Tobin still had the upper hand in terms of skill and handling. Whenever Tobin's feet touched the ball, she knew where it was going to go; she made the ball look like an extension of her body.

They'd been on the WNT together for three years now, but Tobin still made Christen nervous. Tobin was such a smart player, and Christen could hardly keep up. Only Tobin knew where Tobin would move next. She was so powerful in that way; it allowed her to dictate gameplay. It was so cool to watch.

Christen was just a striker, through and through. Or, at least, that was how Jill played her. She was anxious and hesitant, unconfident and inconsistent. Christen had some catching up to do if she ever wanted to be like Tobin one day, if that was even possible.

Even her fingers were hesitant as she wrote a text to Tobin. She didn't remember ever thinking this hard about sending a text message before. She'd type and delete over and over again. It took her about 10 minutes to get out what she wanted to say, and even then she regretted it right after sending:

"Hey! Jill got us a photoshoot for Adidas. Looks like we're going to Boston on Tuesday."

 _Ugh, was that weird?_ Christen asked herself. Tobin didn't respond right away, which Christen found absolutely agonizing.

Christen tossed her phone aside and forced herself to not think about it anymore.

But then it buzzed.

It was Tobin.

"Sounds dope!" she'd said, and she was typing more. Her next text came out: "Super excited to do it with you :)"

All of a sudden, Christen felt herself smiling hard. Of course, she couldn't really know if Tobin was being flirty or friendly, but Christen decided she was allowed to think what she wanted to think.

And in her own mind, at least, she was almost certain that Tobin was putting on the moves.

FOR BOSTON IN NOVEMBER, THE WEATHER WAS SURPRISINGLY YIELDING. It was cold, for sure, but it wasn't snowing; the sun was out and the sky was clear. Christen couldn't ask for anything better.

Tobin, funnily enough, wasn't quite having it though. "Jeez, it's freezing."

"Aren't you from the East Coast?" Christen teased.

"Oh, it's totally different in Jersey," Tobin said. "Do you want to go for a coffee? We don't have to be at the office until 2, and it's, like, 11 right now."

Christen couldn't even imagine an alternate universe where she would ever say no to this.

"So, did you ever play for the Breakers?" Christen asked after they'd ordered, trying to make small talk with her idol. Tobin had found a local coffeeshop — as it turned out, she was a snob about her coffee, probably because she'd been living in Portland for years now — and ordered an iced cold brew with almond milk. Christen just got a chai latte.

"Nah, never the Breakers. I've done Sky Blue, Atlanta Beat, PSG, and the Thorns. What about you?"

It was then when Christen realized that she and Tobin didn't know each other very well. "I went to magicJack, and then I went to Sweden for a couple years, played there, now I'm at the Red Stars."

"You know, I always wondered why you didn't get picked up by the senior team straight out of college. It never made sense to me," Tobin admitted to Christen. "You were always good enough. I can't believe you've only been on the team for, what, three years? You deserved it much earlier."

 _You were always good enough._ Those were words Christen had wanted to hear from someone like Tobin Heath for so long. She never thought she'd ever get to. 

Christen hoped her cheeks weren't too obviously flushed. Thankfully, their drinks arrived. "Oh, hey, cheers," said Tobin.

"To what?"

"What do you think? To Preath, of course."

Christen giggled. Their cups clinked, and she repeated Tobin's words—

"To Preath."

"WHY ARE YOU TWO SO STIFF?" The photographer grabbed Christen's hand and put it on Tobin's shoulder. "Come on, get into it, show us something!"

This was probably the most awkward shoot Christen had done. She and Tobin were just in sports bras and shorts, and every few pictures the photographer would push them even closer to one another. They were practically on top of one another.

She didn't know if it was from the caffeine or the skin-on-skin closeness, but Christen couldn't find another way to describe what she was feeling than... "jittery."

"Okay, better... now hold hands," demanded the photographer. "I'm going to take a close up of just your hands."

Christen hoped her hand wasn't too sweaty when Tobin's fingers so easily laced hers. Christen was surprised at how small Tobin's hand felt.

"Alright, I think we've got what we need. You guys are good to go," said the photographer.

"Really?" Tobin asked. Christen noticed that Tobin didn't let go of her hand right away. 

"Yeah, we can make these work."

"Great," said Tobin. Christen looked down at their hands. "Oh, haha, sorry," Tobin said as her fingers retreated.

Christen wished they hadn't.

The two got to take a look at some of their photos. Christen couldn't really believe it was them; it just seemed so unnatural, her and Tobin being close like this, wearing so little. But the pictures came out alright. It wasn't too obvious that Preath was fake.

"Hey," Tobin began in a soft voice once the photographer walked away, "you look really good in these."

"Oh, I... thanks. You too."

Tobin looked up at Christen, forcing her into eye contact—

"Really, Christen. I mean it."

JILL HAD BOOKED THEM A HOTEL ROOM FOR THE NIGHT. She promised it'd be one room, two twin beds, and they would fly back the next day. It was a short trip.

But when Tobin checked in, the concierge said otherwise.

"A room under 'Ellis'... we've got the junior suite."

This was ridiculous. If the team was really broke, why would Jill get them a junior suite? It was totally a waste of money, but Jill never made any sense.

Tobin caught on too. "Junior suite?! I-I'm... there might be a mistake, are you sure?"

"Ma'am, there isn't any other registration under 'Ellis.' I'm pretty sure." Christen watched Tobin scrunch her nose at "ma'am."

They were sure that Jill had said _this_ particular Marriott on Tremont Street. "Um, is there any way you could make a call to the other Marriott? The one on Beverly Street? To see if there's a reservation there?" Christen asked haltingly, looking up from her phone. There was another hotel with practically the same name uptown.

The concierge didn't seem too pleased with the idea, but made the call anyway. Christen noticed Tobin's right leg swinging underneath the counter as she stood on her left. It was endearing.

"They don't have any reservations under 'Ellis' at the Beverly Street location. I'm 99% sure this is the room you got," reported the concierge, who didn't hold back with the sarcasm.

As soon as they made it to the room, Tobin grabbed a pillow from the bed and put it down in the middle. "There. Now it's like two twins. Which side do you want?"

"I don't have a preference, really."

"Just choose one," Tobin urged.

"I don't have a side of the bed, either one is totally fine."

"Christen, this is the problem," Tobin sighed. She was clearly tired. Christen knew how much Tobin liked to sleep. "You're always so indecisive. Come on. If you can't choose a side of the bed, how do you choose which corner to shoot to? Indecision looks like hesitation."

Christen frowned. She didn't need a lecture from Tobin. "Fine. I'll take the... um..." And here she was, stalling again. "I'll take the right side, I guess."

"Is that what you want?"

"Um, yeah, sure, but if it's what you want, then—"

"What are you doing? Why are you never sure of yourself?" Why was Tobin getting pissed about this? Their entire day together had been so nice up until now, and suddenly, the claws came out. 

"I don't know! I'm sorry!"

"Why are you apologizing?"

"Why do you always have to ask such difficult questions? What are _you_ doing, trying to trick me?" Christen's words came out angrier than she would've liked. They'd had a long day, an awkward shoot, and now they were a public spectacle. Preath was already exhausting.

"There we go." Satisfied, Tobin's voice dropped to its usual calm state.

"What?"

"Press, if we're going to be in a relationship, real or fake, you can't keep being, you know, like _this_. I have to be able to know what you want. And it's hard when even _you_ don't know what you want." Tobin's demands made sense, but Christen didn't think it'd be possible to make a change this profound.

"Well, this is how I am, and you're going to have to deal with it until the contract is over." 

"Hey now, look at you! You're getting there!"

Tobin smiled her broad, cheeky smile. Christen nearly rolled her eyes at Tobin's cockiness. She had no idea Tobin was so good at mind games. It was like Tobin was inside Christen's head, nutmegging her brain.

"Tobin Heath," Christen sighed, running her hand through her hair frustratedly, "who let you be like this?"

"I don't know, Christen Press," Tobin laughed, jumping onto the left side of the bed, "I don't know."


	4. But I Only Think of You (You're Stuck in My Head)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from Charlie Burg's "I Don't Wanna Be Okay Without You." A nice chill song. When I own a coffeeshop in Hawaii, I'll play it for my customers.
> 
> As promised, this chapter has some Tobin POV, at the beginning. It's a big huge description of what Tobin thinks of Press. I was feeling artsy when I wrote it, I hope you guys enjoy it, it's more detailed than my usual stuff, but I ended up liking it enough to keep it in.
> 
> Big bombshell later in this chapter, and I have fun things planned for the chapters that are to come :)
> 
> But right now, let's dive into this loooong Christen description...

THE MORE TIME SHE SPENT WITH CHRISTEN, Tobin felt increasingly different from her. Tobin couldn't see how Jill thought that Preath would ever be plausible.

It wasn't like Tobin was complaining, though.

It was the small things, really, that set Tobin and Christen apart, but they added up. Like how Tobin would sit with her legs apart — as much as her mother yelled at her for it when she was young, it just felt natural that way — whereas Christen would always cross one long, lean leg over the other, the image of a modest, feminine woman.

The way Christen carried her body was different, too; she had the posture and poise of, say, a ballerina, despite lacking a similar handle on her emotions.

Tobin had spent more than a bit of time looking at and analyzing the mysterious Christen Press. 

Christen also looked a hell of a lot different. Tobin went crazy looking at Christen’s catlike green eyes, watching intently whenever the sunlight moved into her irises, making them appear glassy and so genuinely alive. Tobin's eyes didn't do that; they didn't sparkle like that.

Sometimes Tobin wondered if Christen's eyes had always done that or if it was something that could be learned, or practiced.

One thing that Tobin did have over Christen was the smile. Thanks to nearly five years of braces, Tobin's was picture-perfect, and it was one of her things about herself. Christen's smile was a little bit crooked, but in an endearing way, and by no means did its slight imperfection seem to prevent Christen from showing it off.

Another thing was that Christen was built like a Barbie doll: tall, slender, and annoyingly proportionate, with a 24- or 25-inch waist and breasts that could be no bigger than a B-cup. Sure, Christen had muscle, but it didn't show much.

If the whole professional soccer thing hadn’t worked out, Tobin was confident that Christen could’ve been a model.

Tobin's body was different. She'd always had an athletic look, with her wide shoulders and her toned calves and thighs. She'd grown to like herself like this, to enjoy the way she looked and how her hard work manifested itself in her appearance, but it wasn't easy when girls like Christen Press existed, who were almost just as good as you, and about a hundred times as pretty.

But there were things that Tobin had that Christen didn’t, though. Aggression. Backbone. Confidence. You didn’t have to know the first thing about soccer to see that with the way Christen Press played, she oozed anxiety and uncertainty.

That was what bothered Tobin the most: Christen had all the _physical_ materials necessary to be a star player, but mentally, she was far from.

If only Christen could get out of that pretty head of hers.

"OUR AD COMES OUT TODAY," Christen mentioned casually as she slowed her pace to jog next to Tobin. It'd been about a week since the shoot. This was a public practice, which meant there would be plenty of eyes on them, so Jill told them to make sure they stuck to each other like glue. "You excited?"

"I guess," Tobin said. "I hope the picture they chose is a good one."

"Yeah, same," Christen agreed in a voice she thought might've come off as too ditzy.

Christen watched Tobin thirstily pour water down her throat. Christen didn't know why she thought it was hot; she just _did_. Tobin had far too much power over Christen already. Christen nearly choked on her words as she asked, "So h-have you, um, talked to your family? About us?"

"It's difficult," Tobin admitted. "You know how my family is. We're really Christian, so they obviously... I mean..."

She took a breath, searching for her words before she continued. "You know, they weren't thrilled. They knew I was into women — I told them when I was in high school — but we hadn't talked about it since, and they didn't forget, but they... chose to ignore it. But they can't anymore."

Christen didn't say anything; she didn't know what to say.

"I mean, it's a slippery slope. We're not allowed to tell our families that this thing is rigged, and we're super public, like, all over the place. It's gotta be hard for them, you know?" Christen didn't know how Tobin could find this much compassion for her disapproving parents. Tobin was more introspective than she thought. "But enough about me. How's your family handling it?"

"Pretty well, actually, except for the fact that they didn't know I liked women in the first place."

"So you do actually like women? Seriously?" Tobin absently moved her head from side to side, stretching out her neck, inadvertently revealing her jawline. Christen's breath caught in her throat.

"Uh... yeah. I do." It felt weird saying it out loud.

"Hm."

"'Hm' what? What's that about?"

"I don't know," Tobin said through that perfect, cheeky smile, "I just didn't know I actually had a chance with you, that's all."

With that, she turned away and started walking.

Christen's mind raced to search for a witty comeback, but her mental faculties failed her; comebacks were never her strong suit, and she was far too flustered from Tobin proposing the idea that they could — in some strange, twisted world — actually be together... for _real_.

Was Tobin flirting?

JUST HOURS AFTER THE AD DROPPED WORLDWIDE, Preath gained another surge of popularity online. They were riding this wave — no, they were _dominating_ it. "Tobin Heath" and "Christen Press" weren't just trending on Twitter... their names were trending on Google.

This was next level.

Jill put them on a conference call that same night. "Girls," she'd yelled into the phone, "You are on fire right now! I am loving this!"

Christen didn't quite know what to say. Somehow, the more popularity they gained, the worse she felt about the entire ordeal. But at least Jill was happy.

Happy Jill meant less criticism, less unprovoked anger... just less trouble overall.

"I'll call you two as soon as I've got a new job lined up for you. But, the marketing team says you guys need to interact with each other on social media. You know, comment on each other's posts, tag each other in pictures... you're young, I'm sure you understand. I've got to go, but keep up the good work!"

Jill ended the call without a word from Christen or Tobin the whole call.

Christen's phone buzzed. Her heart jumped, thinking it might be from Tobin, perhaps an analysis of the call.

But it was just Kelley.

And all it said was, "Call me."

Christen dialed Kelley's number immediately. It wasn't often that Kelley cut to the chase like this. It was clear she meant business.

"Hey, Christen."

"Hi. What's going on? It seemed urgent."

"Christen, you have to be 100% honest with me right now. Promise."

"Oh, um, o-okay. Yeah. Sure. What is it?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Christen heard a sigh through the phone. "It's fake, right? Tell me it's fake."

"What's fake?" Christen asked, playing dumb as she braced for impact.

This was just supposed to be between her, Tobin, Jill, and the rest of the marketing team at the USWNT. No one else. She couldn't believe it had only taken Kelley two weeks total to crack the case.

"You _know_ what I'm talking about, Christen." She could almost sense pain in Kelley's voice. 

"I don't know what you—"

"Preath. It's fake, isn't it?"

Christen didn't know how to respond. What was she supposed to say? It said firmly in her contract that she wasn't to tell anyone else about Preath not being real. But if Kelley had stumbled upon the truth on her own, Christen didn't see any harm in confirming it...

"I, um..." She winced as the truth escaped her. "Yeah."

"Jesus, Christen. How did you get wrapped up in all of this?" Christen _hated_ how disappointed Kelley sounded. For years now, Kelley had been something like a role model to Christen, even though she was just a year older than her, and it all started in college. It seemed old habits died hard.

"I-I don't know," Christen said, rushing to explain herself, tears welling in her eyes, "One day Tobin and I came into Jill's office and she told us to sign these contracts, and — oh, crap, you weren't supposed to know all that. Dammit. But s-she threatened me, she was all like, 'If you don't sign this, you're off the team forever.'"

"Are you kidding me? She threatened to blacklist you from the team if you didn't... do Preath?"

"Yeah." Christen's voice wobbled.

"God, this woman is just insufferable," Kelley said exasperatedly. "Every day, some new shit like this comes up. Do you guys have any idea how much trouble Jill could get in for this?"

"We were planning on exposing her at the end!"

"You bring up a good point — when is the end?"

Christen didn't want to tell Kelley, but she knew she had to. "After the World Cup. 2019."

"You're telling me that Jill put you two in a three-year fake dating contract?!"

"I... I mean, when you put it that way—"

"Hold on, Christen, I have to go scream into a pillow." There was a pause and muffled screaming, as promised. "Something needs to be done about this right away. I'm serious. I can't have two of my best friends in the whole world getting flat-out _used_ like this. I won't stand for it."

"She did it because the team is broke," Christen cried. "If we didn't agree to it, the team would've been done by the end of the year. Over. We were doing it to save the team."

"Shit," said Kelley. "We're really between a rock and a hard place, huh?"

"Oh, like you wouldn't know." Christen was glad to hear a laugh at the other end of the line. "How did you figure this out, anyway?"

"Becky and I pieced it together. It seemed weird; you and Tobs were never close, and as soon as you guys 'came out' to the media, you get an Adidas ad. It seemed fishy. So Becky and I agreed that we would call you to get the full story."

"Why me?"

"Because we knew you would've snitched," Kelley answered matter-of-factly.

"God, I hate you, Kelley O'Hara."

"Why? 'Cause I'm right?" Christen could imagine Kelley's smug face behind her phone.

"Good night, Kelley."

"Press, seriously, we need to get this sorted out."

"Kelley, we can handle this."

"Going along with Jill's scheme isn't 'handling this.' You're just giving her what she wants. You're playing into her hands."

"And sometimes it has to be done. It's out of my control now. Just... make sure you keep this between you and Becky _only_ , okay? If Jill catches on that you know, Tobin and I are _done_. Finished. Understood?"

"I will do my best, Christen."

"Kelley, I mean it."

"I'm just joking with you! I can keep a secret!" Kelley insisted through a laugh before she hung up the phone.

AS CHRISTEN TRIED TO GET TO SLEEP THAT NIGHT, so many questions swirled around in her head. Among them were, _What if Jill finds out?_ and _If Kelley tells the team, we're so screwed._

Yet the biggest ones, the ones that kept coming back again and again, the ones she'd tried so hard to force down—

_What does Tobin think of me?_

And—

_Does Tobin know I can't get her off my mind?_

Those ones were the worst. She knew those were the ones that would probably never get answered.


	5. I Don't Know Who She Is (She Lives in Daydreams With Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, back again with Harry Styles lyrics in my title, my first from Fine Line, one of my favorite songs on the album, "She." Whew. This song... oh my. I am in LOVE.
> 
> Sorry about the wait on this one, I've gotten sidetracked with Criminal Minds. Check that show out y'all it's entertaining AF and the entire cast is hot. Period.
> 
> I feel like there's a part in this chapter where you guys might get a little mad at me. But be sure to read the disclaimer in the end notes when you've finished the chapter. I hope it'll clear things up for you.
> 
> This chapter isn't a whole lot, but next chapter... get ready. 
> 
> Anyway, let's not get too ahead of ourselves, take a breath, and read...

PRACTICE WAS BECOMING HARDER. Not only did Christen carry the weight of the team's loss from the summer, but she now carried this outrageous lie, and she always had eyes on her: Jill, the media, and Tobin.

Her crush on Tobin was growing bigger. Christen could tell. It felt silly. She wished it would go away. She felt like she was too old to have crushes like this. 

Nearly every minute she spent without Tobin, she spent thinking about her.

But Jill kept pushing them together. Christen couldn't avoid Tobin even if she wanted to.

(She didn't want to, though.)

This past Thanksgiving was awkward. It was the first one since Sweden where Christen hadn't spent the holiday with her family. Instead, she flew to Portland and had Thanksgiving together with Tobin, Kling, and Long, all of whom played for the Thorns.

Christen felt a little out of place among them, but at least they all played on the WNT, so it wasn't too terribly awkward.

Jill insisted that Christen stay over at Tobin's apartment instead of getting a hotel room as it would be cheaper and more believable, and with no choice but to oblige, Christen brought her things to Tobin's apartment on the day before Thanksgiving.

"Hey," Tobin said as she opened the door. She greeted Christen with a smile. Christen was happy to see it. "Come on in." 

Tobin's apartment was pretty nice — it felt almost spacious, even — but a little under-decorated. It was on a high floor and from the balcony there was a view of Providence Park, where Tobin practiced during the NWSL season. It seemed quite convenient.

But inside, there wasn't much. There was a big gray sectional sofa and a TV across from it, and the kitchen was clean, modern, and sparse.

"I like it," Christen said, making an effort to play nice with her fake girlfriend. "It's really nice here, Tobin."

"Hey, thanks. A lot of people don't really understand the 'minimalist' thing I'm going for here."

"Well, I think it's a nice space."

"I'm glad to hear it." Their small talk was awkward. "So, about the sleeping arrangements, do you want to split the bed or should I take the couch?"

"Oh, no, I'll take the couch, it's totally fine."

"Christen, you're a guest in my home. If anyone's sleeping on the couch, it'll be me. I'm willing to do whatever makes you feel comfortable," Tobin said, before repeating herself verbatim, "So do you want to split the bed, or should I take the couch?"

Tobin was doing that thing again — that thing where she wanted Christen to say exactly what she wanted. Even though Christen could recognize when Tobin was doing it, Christen couldn't make up her mind like that.

"Um..." Christen felt obligated to make a decision on the spot. "If I could have the bed alone, that'd be nice."

"No problem," Tobin said with a smile that appeared genuine. "It's great that you're becoming more decisive. You're making progress."

Christen kept a smile to herself.

Somehow, when Tobin complimented her, it lit a fire inside her.

Then, on Thanksgiving Day, when she and Tobin were met with their guests, they agreed that they had to be extra careful that their relationship seemed real. That meant subtle touching, like holding hands, or the occasional arm-to-arm touch. 

Whenever it occurred, it was spur of the moment, and it always made Christen's heart flutter.

Like for example, there was one time when Tobin was trying to move past Christen in the kitchen, and she put her hands on Christen's hips as she stepped behind her.

That made Christen's breath catch in her throat.

But there were some PDA moments that didn't make sense. Like when they were saying grace at the table — Tobin was Christian, after all — she felt Tobin squeeze her hand, even though no one was looking.

Tobin was a complete mystery.

The next thing Christen remembered was waking up in Tobin's bed, alone, taking in the smell of Tobin's sheets.

They smelled like her.

What was making Christen crave this scent?

It was beyond her.

"CAN I PULL YOU TWO FOR A TALK AFTER PRACTICE?" Jill asked as Tobin and Christen stretched side-by-side, sitting on the grass. "You've got another offer. A few, actually, but I chose the best one."

"Why can't you tell us now?" Tobin asked. Christen was always amazed that Tobin could be so blunt with Jill and not face repercussions. That must've been a perk of being a team favorite.

"There's details we don't have time to get into on the pitch," Jill explained before she walked away.

"What brand do you think it's for?" Christen wondered aloud.

"I dunno. Nike, maybe? U.S. Soccer? Could be anything, really."

"Whatever pays Jill the best," Christen said dryly. Tobin laughed and stood up, extending a hand to help Christen up.

These where the moments when Tobin was confusing: this was a media-free practice, no one was paying attention to them, Christen could get up all on her own, but Tobin was choosing to help her. Something was telling Christen it couldn't be a coincidence.

It was when they were playing, too. It made more sense then, but still, whenever Tobin had an option to pass, she usually passed to Christen, probably nine times out of ten these days. Even if Christen wasn't open. She just _expected_ Christen to create an opportunity with the ball mid-pass.

Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

People complained. 

Sometimes Carli would yell, "Heath! Hey!" and the ball wouldn't come to her. Toward the end of practice, everyone could feel Carli's frustration — she was used to getting the ball, making the play. That was her thing.

But maybe Tobin made it too obvious.

"Toby, what's up with you today?" Carli asked as practice wrapped up, her voice edging on accusatory. Christen fell back, stepping away from the other two. She didn't want to be caught in the middle of this, even though she knew it was about her.

"What are you talking about?"

"All day, no passes from you? And suddenly you're treating Press like she's an extension of your body?" Carli could get like this sometimes. The spotlight was almost always hers to have.

"It's 'cause she's my girl, Carli, chill out," Tobin replied nonchalantly. Christen fought back a huge smile.

 _"My girl_ ," she thought to herself. _I'm Tobin Heath's "girl."_

"I'm just saying, if you really want to win as much as I want to win, you would be following my lead, answering my calls. Which one of us is the captain?"

"It's always about winning with you. We're in practice, can't you give Press a chance? To improve her skills, if anything?"

"Jeez, Tobin, I didn't think you'd let me down like this." Carli got closer to Tobin, dangerously close, within face-slapping range. "Winning is the only thing that matters anymore. We don't get paid when we lose. We barely do when we win. We can't let dead weight like Press hold us back."

In a sudden motion, Tobin brought her hand across Carli's face with a loud smack. Tobin's voice went threatening as she said through a growl—

"Don't talk about her like that. You're better than that."

"Oh, and you think slapping is acceptable?" Carli was cradling her cheek in her hand. 

"It was a warning," Tobin said. "You don't want to know what I'd do to you if you don't keep Press's name out of your mouth."

Christen was speechless. Was anyone else seeing this unfold right before their eyes?

No one was staring at the spectacle Tobin and Carli had made of themselves. Not a single other person.

"Come on," Christen said quietly, tugging Tobin's wrist, "we have to talk to Jill."

Christen could feel Carli's eyes boring holes into her back as she dragged Tobin behind her. 

"What the hell was that? Who do you think you are?" Christen demanded. "Why did you think it was okay to act like that? To hit her?"

"Aren't you happy? I'm standing up for you," Tobin argued.

"Violence isn't the answer, Tobin, it never is." Christen lowered her voice before she continued, "If you're gonna be like that, just... please don't do it on my behalf."

"Fine. Then it was for me. Because Carli's been on my ass for almost 10 years, and I'm sick and tired of her, and I miss Abby." Tobin's voice had lost its strength.

"Well, I hate to tell you this, but she's not going away anytime soon. Carli's a fighter," Christen said. "And don't act like a child. I miss Abby too, but acting out isn't gonna bring her back. She's retired. Get a grip."

"Don't lecture me. Don't tell me to 'get a grip.'"

Christen glared at Tobin as they arrived at the door to Jill's office.

Just when Christen thought that she and Tobin might have some actual potential, it was gone. Or at least, she had no chance with Tobin until Tobin got her attitude in check. 

"Hey, girls, have a seat," Jill said, her voice inviting but fake. "Come in. Pressy, would you close that door? Thanks." Press obliged.

"So what's the job?" Christen asked as she sat down, trying to channel her Tobin Heath assertiveness. Even if she was mad at Tobin right now, Christen knew she needed to work on her interactions with Jill. She couldn't be afraid of her forever.

"Oh, girls, this is _so_ exciting. I'm over the moon about this one. It's gonna blow your minds."

"Really? Tell us," Tobin urged, her hands on her knees, leaning forward.

"You two know ESPN right?"

"Of course."

"I got you two a booking for the ESPN Magazine Body Issue!"

Jill's announcement garnered no reaction from her players.

"Isn't that the one, w-where the athletes, um, the athletes are—" Christen began through a stutter, before Tobin cut her off with, "Naked?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Did you forget we're not _actually_ together?" Tobin asked.

"I honestly don't see a problem here. This was the offer that's getting us the most money, which is good for you two, the team, _and_ me. It's really not that big a deal, girls, I don't know why you're so upset with this."

"It's just... you know, it's a lot," Christen explained. "Very... revealing."

"We don't know if we're ready for that kind of a job," Tobin filled in. Christen debated kicking Tobin in the shin for speaking for her, but then she thought it would've made her a hypocrite, so she held back.

Jill laughed before she reminded them, "I mean, do you even have a choice? No."

Tobin and Christen went quiet.

"The shoot's next week in Santa Barbara, and I've got you guys tickets to LAX."

And with a wry smile, Jill tacked on—

"Enjoy yourselves."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I had to choose an antagonist from the team, and I chose Carli because she makes the most sense: she's been on the team the longest and she can fit a "disapproving leader" trope. Even though Jill is technically an antagonist, she's running the fake dating gig, so Preath can't have back-and-forth with her.
> 
> Just please remember this is a more dystopian-type AU, and I'm sure Carli is not like this IRL; from what I can tell, all the USWNT members are relatively unproblematic and they get along.
> 
> I hope you're not deterred from reading. I promise Carli won't interfere so much in the future, I just needed some action for this chapter.


	6. You Know That I'm Obsessed With Your Body (I Will Gladly Break My Heart for You)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title lyric is from "Sweet" by Cigarettes After Sex. Okay seriously, I just want to fall in love to Cigarettes After Sex's full discography, is that too much to ask for??
> 
> Also, made an error last chapter: the Body Issue is NOT published by Sports Illustrated, rather, it's published by ESPN. I changed it in the last chapter for continuity's sake. Just don't be shocked when you see ESPN all up in this chapter.
> 
> Whew, I hope this lives up to your expectations... it was a difficult write, but I'm okay with how it turned out. It's mostly Tobin POV with Christen's at the very end, as a treat.
> 
> Please enjoy responsibly my friends :)

EVEN THOUGH TOBIN HAD SENT SEVERAL TEXTS APOLOGIZING FOR HER RASHNESS, she and Christen weren't completely back on track. She understood why Christen was upset. Carli wasn't big on Christen in the first place — she was never keen on having new blood — and after the Olympics fiasco, their relationship had become even more strained.

Fighting on Christen's behalf probably didn't make Carli think any better of Christen.

But now they were at LAX, trying to get their rental car so they could make their way up to Santa Barbara. Jill couldn't get ESPN to escort them from the airport — that _really_ wasn't in the budget — and Christen knew the area well enough so that she was confident in her navigation skills. 

"What is that?" Tobin pried as they waited in line. Christen had unzipped her backpack and took out a three-ounce bottle filled with green liquid.

"It's juice," Christen answered, cracking the seal of the bottle. "I went on a three-day juice cleanse for this. I'm on day two."

"You need real food, Christen," Tobin said, wrinkling her nose, her tone disapproving. "You're a pro athlete."

"This is good for me, I love a good juice cleanse. I needed to detox for this shoot, that's all. It's honestly not too bad, I do them a few times a year." Christen downed the rest of the bottle like a shot. Tobin hid her surprise.

"I'm sure you would've looked the same either way," Tobin mumbled. She was almost entirely sure that not eating real food for three days wouldn't have much of an effect on Christen's physique. But maybe Christen was being smart; should Tobin have prepared for this better?

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know," Tobin said cautiously, not daring to meet eyes with Christen. "You always look pretty."

Christen almost snorted at this, but Tobin was being serious. Christen was honestly always pretty. Tobin tried not to let Christen's reaction bother her.

Things only got worse once they got on the road. Since Christen was driving, she controlled the music, and she insisted on playing the soundtrack from that TV show _Glee_. 

"You ever seen _Glee_?" Christen asked over the music. It was an amateurish cover of some Kelly Clarkson song that was from what felt like maybe 10 years ago.

"No, actually."

"Seriously?! Oh, my God. Okay. So there's this high school show choir club in Ohio — the McKinley High 'New Directions' — and they're this scrappy team of misfits, even though some of them are popular, like cheerleaders or football players, and they're constantly being sabotaged by the cheerleading coach, Sue Sylvester. She's crazy. Anyway—"

"Don't need to hear about it right now, but thanks, though," Tobin said, abruptly cutting Christen off.

Christen was unfazed, and she just kept going.

"I know my summarizing wouldn't do it justice, you just have to watch it, I'm telling you. It is, like, the _best_ show, and the cheerleaders are the best part. My favorite character is the sassy one, Santana Lopez. She's so funny, and she's really talented, too. You _have_ to watch it, Tobin."

"Okay, easy now." Tobin could tell that Christen was obsessed with this show.

Maybe she would take some time to watch it.

Tobin didn't enjoy how Christen suddenly had this power over her like this.

THEY CHECKED INTO THEIR HOTEL ROOM AND IT WAS THE SAME SITUATION AS LAST TIME; they split the bed down the middle with a pillow and they each took a side.

But this time around, Christen had run into trouble. As she was unpacking her things, there was clearly a problem.

"Shit," Christen muttered under her breath. Tobin flinched; she'd never heard Christen swear before.

Tobin was into it.

"What's wrong?" Tobin asked, recovering quickly.

"I'm so dumb. Ugh, I knew it was a bad idea to forgo the checklist. Gosh, I am a mess," Christen said, shaking her head. "I forgot to bring clothes to sleep in."

"You make a checklist when you travel? Every time?"

"For trips longer than two days. It's just out of habit," Christen explained through a heavy sigh. "My mom made me do it when I was young, whenever I went to a far away tournament or camp, and the habit kind of stuck. I'm a list freak."

A self-proclaimed "list freak." How cute.

Tobin decided to play with her: "Would you be mad if I told you I'm not surprised that you're a list freak?"

Christen shot her a look. Tobin's smile faded and she offered, "Christen, really, just wear one of my shirts, it's not that big a deal."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Tobin said. "Here, I have one for you." Tobin took out a big UNC shirt — yes, this was _perfect_ — and tossed it to Christen.

Shockingly, Christen didn't give her any shit for it. "Thank you, Tobin. Really."

"Like I said, not a big deal."

Tobin was startled at how Christen quickly took off the sweatshirt she was wearing and put on Tobin's shirt, right in front of her. Tobin made a point of looking away.

But when she looked again, Tobin really liked how her UNC shirt looked on Christen. Its looseness on her lean body was endearing, and the periwinkle-type pale blue color — or as the Tar Heels called it, "Carolina Blue" — looked nothing short of fantastic paired with Christen's honeyish skin. 

Then again, Tobin was sure that if you were to put Christen Press in a trash bag, she'd manage to make it look like a million bucks.

"So, are you nervous about tomorrow?" Tobin asked, breaking the silence, trying to make conversation as one would if they weren't totally into their fake-girlfriend-AKA-roommate.

"Yeah, definitely," Christen admitted, sitting down on her side of the bed. "I'm not the best model already, and to be, like, totally naked — in front of all those people, the photographers and all that — it's... daunting. But I like a challenge. I'm trying not to let the nerves take over."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Tobin reassured. She was doing her best to sound like she wasn't nervous at all, but she was. "It'll be maybe two hours tops, and then it's over."

"How are you so chill about literally everything?" Christen asked out of nowhere. "You're kinda weird, Tobin Heath."

(Tobin didn't know where this "calling each other by their full names" thing came from, but she wasn't upset about it. Tobin didn't know why she liked it when Christen said her name, her full name.)

"Says you," Tobin teased, lying back on the other side of the bed, "list freak."

Christen laughed and tossed their divider pillow at Tobin.

Tobin decided that if this wasn't the start of an actual relationship, it had potential to be the start of a really, really good friendship.

"WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD." Tobin felt her arm being poked. The first thing she saw was Christen standing over her, and she didn't look happy. "We're gonna be late."

Without having to be asked, Christen handed Tobin her glasses. Tobin put them on and asked, "What time is it?" 

"Almost 4:30."

"In the morning?!" Tobin sat up in the bed, the weight of her upper body supported by her elbows. Christen pulled the comforter off of Tobin's body.

"We have to be on-site at 5:15!"

"You pay attention to those papers they give us?" 

"I don't have time for sass, Tobin. Come on, we have to go in, like, 15 minutes. I still have to get the car and drive us to the shoot location."

"I can be ready in 10," Tobin promised.

"Okay then, go for it."

Tobin was annoyed at how Christen was truly a morning person. She looked alert and lively, as always, just drinking her special detox juice. Tobin wasn't the same; she needed her sleep. Maybe she'd try to catch a nap while Christen was driving.

The anxiety set in when they arrived on set. Tobin and Christen were separated for hair and makeup, and they were dressed in fluffy white bathrobes with a red ESPN logo. Tobin could hardly keep still in her chair.

The sun was beginning to peek out from the horizon, and the photographers hustled Christen and Tobin out of their chairs and onto the beach. But despite the stress, it was a peaceful image, and hearing the waves helped Tobin calm down a little.

"We're going to take some single shots first," instructed one of them. "Who's going first?"

"Should we do rock paper scissors?" Tobin joked.

"Gosh, you're being such a child," Christen sighed. "You know what? I'll go first. Watch and learn, Tobin Heath."

With that, Christen brazenly shrugged off her robe and handed it to a production assistant, and Tobin managed to get a good look at Christen.

Tobin couldn't believe what she was seeing. The sun rose beside Christen, shedding streaks of light on her figure, and it looked as though she was glowing. Tobin's eyes rushed to decipher every curve, every line, every square inch of Christen's body. Tobin felt embarrassed that she was staring like this, so intently and so unashamedly—

No.

To hell with that. She wasn't ashamed, and she wasn't embarrassed.

As far as everyone there knew, Christen was her girlfriend.

So Tobin didn't break her gaze. She refused to. Tobin was weak, and she simply couldn't resist the majesty of Christen's shape. As strange and dirty as it felt, she kept her eyes on Christen.

There was something inside her that compelled her to.

Christen's body was _art_. She was someone's sculptural masterpiece — God's, probably. Tobin could feel her pulse moving through her veins, and she was suddenly aware of the shallow breaths she'd been taking. Christen's body was making Tobin go haywire.

Tobin just couldn't believe that this was real, that people as genuinely beautiful as Christen Press existed in real life.

It almost felt unfair; Christen really was perfect.

Tobin's staring was interrupted when someone told her to close her mouth, and Tobin didn't even realize it was open.

And after all this, Tobin's initial thought was—

_There's no way I can 'just be friends' with Christen Press. Not anymore._

CHRISTEN USUALLY WASN'T ONE FOR ATTENTION. She liked to stay in the background, be unnoticed, as invisible as possible.

But she had to admit she liked the way Tobin's eyes felt on her.

Christen never thought much of her body. In the past, most guys told her she was too muscular, but she didn't think she was muscular enough; she looked too skinny, in her opinion. Her arms were thin, awkward, and just outright lanky, and her legs weren't built and brawny like her teammates'; overall, she didn't have much to show off.

She didn't look like an athlete.

Something like "small tits, nice ass" was usually how she was summed up by guys, and there was no denying it was true.

However, as soon as she took that robe off and caught Tobin staring, Christen began to warm up to the way she looked.

And Thank God she was at a photoshoot; she at least had a legitimate reason to smile like an idiot.


	7. Light Me up and Lay Me Down and Love Me Like You Shouldn't Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric is from one of the best summer songs of all time, "Crash My Car" by COIN. Stream it. It's so, so worth it.
> 
> (By the way, we're in Chicago — home of the Red Stars — in early 2017 now, probably January or February.)
> 
> I apologize for the long wait, but in turn I give you a long, juicy chapter ;) The beginning is told in Christen POV and the rest is in Tobin POV. 
> 
> I also feel like I haven't thanked you all enough for the support on this fic, but really, it makes my day, it's so nice to read, I love you all. Just wanted to put the gratitude out there. So now, please enjoy the long read from me...

THE REACTION THAT CHRISTEN AND TOBIN GARNERED FROM THE SHOOT WAS UNPRECEDENTED. Of course, they expected it to be a big deal, but it had only been a week since the copies hit the newsstands, and they were on track to surpass the sales of the Krashlyn edition from the year before.

Despite their smashing success, it didn't take long for Jill to come up with a new task for them.

"You guys need to make a public appearance," Jill said.

"Like, an interview?" Tobin asked.

"No, something more... genuine. Authentic." Christen stifled a dry laugh. The overwhelming levels of irony in Jill's demand were almost comical.

"I want you guys to go out to a nice meal together."

"What? Really?" Christen was caught off-guard by the simplicity of it. "No catch?"

"No catch whatsoever. A few paps will be there, obviously, but I don't want anything more. Just have dinner. I even got you a reservation; it's tomorrow night, 7:30."

Somehow, the fishiness of this request didn't seem to be resonating with Tobin. As they left the meeting, Christen asked, "So what do you think about that?"

"About what?"

"This whole dinner thing. I mean, there has to be some curveball."

Tobin shrugged. "I dunno, I think you're looking too much into it. It could just be Jill letting us have a night out."

"Huh. I guess you could be right."

"For a girl who meditates so much, you're awful negative," Tobin pointed out. Christen frowned, but didn't say anything more.

Tobin could be dense sometimes, but maybe Christen needed to stop seeing the worst in Jill.

"NO, SERIOUSLY, WHAT SHOULD I WEAR?" Christen was rifling through her closet with Kelley on FaceTime. She hadn't been out on a date in what felt like years, and she doubted she had anything for the occasion.

"Ooh, you wanna look hot for your hot date tonight?" Kelley teased in a sing-songy voice. If she were there in person, Christen would've punched her in the arm.

"Shut it," Christen warned.

"Fine, okay. Show me what you have," Kelley offered.

It was still freezing cold outside — a Chicago winter was not a laughing matter — so Kelley and Christen agreed that Christen should wear something a little longer, something that went down to her knees or just slightly above. 

As Christen was pushing articles of clothing past the camera, one by one, Kelley shouted, "Stop!"

"What?"

"That one. I want to see that one again."

"Which one?"

"I'll tell you." Christen went back a few and Kelley stopped her on a velvety, long-sleeved dress with a deep, plunging neckline. It looked almost scandalous — when did Christen buy this? She couldn't even remember. There was no way she had the confidence for this. "This one? Are you sure?"

"Oh, hell yes," Kelley said enthusiastically, her smile infectious, even through the screen. "Tobin will drop _dead_ when she sees you in that."

"Hm, I don't know if—"

"Just trust me, Pressy," Kelley interrupted happily, "That's the look. Right there. I promise you."

After Kelley had hung up, Christen thought it over again.

Yes, it was a hot dress. Christen just didn't know if she could pull it off. She brought it over to a mirror and put it in front of her, trying to picture herself in it. It was nearly impossible; she was too awkward, too gangly, and she just knew it wouldn't look right. She sighed. 

But when she went to put it back, she remembered the way Tobin had looked at her at the Body Issue shoot on the beach that morning, and her insides fluttered. 

God, what she would give for Tobin to look at her like that again...

Christen knew this dress was the only piece in her closet that would give her that chance.

When she finally zipped it up, she didn't feel half bad. It fit, at least. She brushed off the dust it had collected and looked at herself in the mirror.

The deep cherry red of the velvet against her skin was just the right amount of dramatic, and almost sexy. Somehow, the way the fabric clung to her made her waist look more defined, giving her some semblance of an hourglass shape. And although the plunge was indeed deep, it turned out tasteful, especially with her smaller-than-average chest. 

Christen couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this feminine, and at the same time, so powerful.

She felt good.

Huh.

Kelley was right about this.

Christen continued to get ready — some light makeup, tan ankle strap heels, hoop earrings, brushing out her waves of hair — and couldn't shake her nervousness.

She decided to pull out her old Hail Mary trick from college, the one a certain Kelley O'Hara had taught her—

Take a shot of a clear liquor.

And just before Christen left her apartment, she poured herself a shot of tequila — not her favorite, but it did the job — and tossed it back. It was sweet and unforgiving, but it was the boost she needed. The unsettled feeling inside of her was quieted.

She was ready, or maybe as ready as she could be for a date with Tobin Heath.

AS SOON AS CHRISTEN TURNED THE CORNER, Tobin felt underdressed and almost weak. Christen looked _hot_. Tobin tried to keep her cool, but when Christen approached her, she crumbled.

"Oh, h-hey! You look, wow, you look... great!" Tobin winced as the sentence choppily left her lips. Christen didn't seem to notice, and she greeted Tobin cheerfully, with a bright "Hi!" and a big, innocent Christen Press smile.

"Should we go in?" Christen suggested as her fingers slipped into Tobin's. Tobin took a breath and managed to answer her: "Yeah, let's go."

Not even a half a minute passed before Tobin realized that Christen was right; there was a catch after all.

The paparazzi were _crazy_.

It seemed like every camera in the Chicago metropolitan area was on them. The flashing lights were unbearably hot on Tobin's face, and the cacophony of reporters' voices was stressful and flat-out overwhelming. Tobin felt Christen's hand tighten arounds hers, and it made Tobin feel a little safer.

This might've been the most nerve-wracking thing Tobin had experienced in her whole life, but at least Christen was there by her side.

And it didn't stop. Even after they'd sat down at their table, every few seconds Tobin would see a flash of light out of the corner of her eye, indicative of yet another photo being taken of her. They were everywhere, both inside the restaurant _and_ outside the restaurant, taking pictures through windows. 

Tobin didn't feel this way often, but she knew she needed a drink. Something strong.

As soon as the waiter came around, Tobin ordered a whiskey sour, and for Christen, a vodka cranberry.

It seemed they were both taking their fame poorly.

"Say it," Tobin said after a sip of her drink. It was refreshing, and it was already helping Tobin calm down. "Just tell me already."

"Tell you what?" Christen asked through a laugh. She seemed especially bubbly today. It was kind of cute.

"You know, 'I told you so.' You were right."

Christen giggled. "No, no. I'm really not one for gloating or anything." Ugh. How was Christen so modest all the time?

"Well, I guess this is the last time I expect Jill to keep to her word."

Christen rolled her eyes — which made Tobin's breath catch in her throat — and said, "The _last_ time? Really? Jill Ellis is, like, the queen of empty promises. Have you ever met her?"

"I mean, it happens every so often, but—"

"Jeez, the amount of times she's told me, 'Press, I'll start you next game,' or 'we'll use you for the corner kick,' versus the amount of times she's gone through with it? Like, she'll say that stuff, and it's an 80% chance it's a flat-out lie."

"80%?! No, that can't be," Tobin argued. "That's extreme."

"Tobin, you just don't get it," Christen began, smiling into her glass as she took a sip, "because you're a favorite."

Tobin's mouth went dry, and she struggled to recover. "Well, that's not up to me. Sorry."

"Oh, you're a little sassy, aren't you, Tobin Heath?" Christen replied, her voice low and smooth, almost like a purr.

There, Christen had done it again; she'd called Tobin by her full name. And again, Tobin's heart began to race. 

Did Christen know just what she was doing to Tobin?

THE REST OF DINNER WAS JUST SHORT OF A MESS. They drank some more — okay, maybe a lot more — and they ate, but were very conscious as they did so. They were surrounded.

Tobin tried her best to keep Christen on her feet as they left the restaurant. Over dinner, Christen had confessed she'd taken a tequila shot before she'd left (which was a trick she'd learned from Kelley, allegedly, which wasn't shocking), and she had two and a half more vodka cranberries.

And Tobin hadn't known this before, but it was becoming apparent now—

Christen was a lightweight.

It wasn't even 11pm yet and Christen was nearing flat-out wasted.

Tobin knew it was up to her to maintain their good image with the media and get Christen home safe.

She couldn't let Christen look sloppy. Tobin didn't want to find out what the consequences were if Jill and the rest of the world saw sloppy Christen.

"Christen, tell me your address," Tobin pleaded. "We need to get you to your apartment."

"Psh, I dunno," retorted Christen, her words coming out slow. "Why don't you know, Tobin Heath?"

"Is it in your phone somewhere?" Tobin was becoming frantic. If they wanted to call a cab, they needed to give the driver a location. Tobin pulled Christen's phone out of Christen's jacket pocket and put Christen's thumb on it — Touch ID. She scrolled through Christen's contacts, and finally, yes, her apartment was in there.

Quick thinking like this was hard when you were tipsy.

Luckily, the cabbie was smart, and he shook the paparazzi away as he drove down the brightly lit streets in the Chicago night. By the time they had arrived at Christen's apartment building, there wasn't a single photographer following them. Tobin tipped well and thanked the man effusively as she dragged Christen out of the car.

"C'mon, Christen, walk with me here," Tobin encouraged as she slung Christen's loose arm over her shoulder and got her to walk down the hallway. Christen mumbled something but Tobin couldn't quite make it out.

"Keys, Christen, where are the keys?"

"Hm?"

"We need the keys to get into the apartment, where are they?"

"I-I... check my jacket pocket," Christen said. Tobin whispered a prayer as her hand searched around in Christen's pockets, and it was answered: Christen's keys were there. A buzzed Tobin fumbled with each of the keys in the lock, her hands wobbly, her mind a little fuzzy.

And finally, just like that, Tobin could push the door right open.

She couldn't breathe a sigh of relief until she'd locked the apartment door behind her.

"Very good, Christen," Tobin said, and Christen laughed. "Let's sit you down on the bed, okay?" Christen obeyed, and she had enough power in her to take off her shoes on her own. She threw them in the corner.

Tobin had a feeling this was going to be a very long night. In a calm voice, she advised, "Okay, you need to go to bed, Christen."

"And _you_ need to shut the hell up, Tobin," Christen responded with a smirk and bleary eyes. Tobin almost chuckled. Even though Christen was blackout, she was adorable.

And then words escaped Christen that made no sense—

"Jesus, you're so hot, Tobin Heath."

Those words made Tobin feel more sober than she had within the entire past hour. She swallowed hard before she could respond with a quiet, "What?"

"You heard me," Christen said, and her voice became louder as she repeated, "You're _so_ hot, Tobin Heath. Oh, my God." Hiccup. "I wasn't supposed to tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't like me." Hiccup.

"What? I do so like you." Even in spite of their drunkenness, this was an interesting conversation.

"Not... ugh, you know what I mean, Tobin Heath, you don't like me like _that_." Hiccup. "The way I want you to like me."

"Who says?" Tobin challenged.

"I-I just feel like..." Hiccup. "If you wanted to, like, hook up with me, we would've done it already."

"Yeah?"

Christen didn't say anything. She just nodded her head. Strongly.

"So what is it you want from me, Christen Press?" It came out more flirtatious than Tobin had intended, but she wasn't upset about it. Christen's mind was always the hardest to read.

Christen bit her lip and answered in a voice that wasn't so drunk—

"I want you to make out with me, Tobin Heath."

Without hesitation, Tobin eased Christen's back onto the bed and straddled her, and wordlessly, Christen brought her head up and put her lips on Tobin's. 

Instantly, a rush of energy burst through Tobin's body.

She needed more.

A drunk Christen could keep to a rhythm better than even a sober Tobin could, so Tobin let Christen lead, following her motions despite being on top of her. Christen was good at kissing. It felt natural and so genuinely hot. So hot Tobin felt like she was literally on fire, burning up in the heat of the moment.

Tobin liked everything about what was happening. She liked the way Christen's fingers ran through her hair, the way that Christen would every so often break their kissing to allow a moan to escape her, the way Christen would nibble at Tobin's bottom lip, the way Christen's hips would grind into Tobin's body, driving Tobin crazy.

Her pacing. Her lips. Her body.

Everything.

Until Christen wanted to push her further.

Tobin's breath hitched as Christen's hand grabbed hers and guided it down, down, down into Christen's lap.

When Tobin noticed this, she stopped. "No, Christen, we can't," she whispered.

"What? Why?" Christen whined.

"You're completely blackout, I-I can't do this to you. It's not right."

"I don't care," Christen slurred in protest. "I need your hands _there_ , Tobin Heath. Please."

"Christen, you're shitfaced. The kissing was fun, but... it needs to stop there. Seriously. I'm not taking advantage of you like this." Tobin stood up and she heard Christen let out a deep sigh. "I would never — and I mean it — _never_ be able to forgive myself."

Tobin went to get Christen a glass of water from the kitchen and two ibuprofen pills from the medicine cabinet. When she set them on Christen's nightstand, she noticed that Christen was asleep already.

Tobin decided to write Christen a note on a paper napkin:

"Christen—

Don't worry, nothing happened between us.

Text me soon.

Tobin"

And as Tobin waited for a taxi in the bitter cold, the only thing Tobin could think about was Christen and her heavenly scent on Tobin's clothes.


	8. There's No Relief, I Feel You in My Dreams (I Can Feel You Touching Me, Telling Me I'm Fine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric is from old Lana Del Rey, one of my BTD era favorites, "Dark Paradise." Criminally underrated, if you ask me.
> 
> This chapter is an immediate follow-up from the last one and starts off with a voicemail from Christen, which explains the block quote. It has a dream of Christen's, which is... well, you'll see. It's ~steamy~ in my opinion.
> 
> It's a little short with a mix of Tobin and Christen POV, but the next one will be more packed, I promise.
> 
> Anyway, I won't keep you longer, start reading :)

> _Hi, Tobin, it's Christen... I mean, haha, you probably knew that, but... I-I just wanted to apologize and say thank you. Yesterday was really not a good look for me, and I'm so, so grateful that you got me back to my place and all that... really, thank you so much. I'm so sorry you had to put up with me, I'm sure plenty of people could tell you that I'm no good when I'm, like, blackout... ugh, that was so embarrassing. I don't even know what to say. If I have to be honest with you, I don't remember a single thing after we left the restaurant..._

THAT WAS A LIE, FLAT OUT. Christen had some memory of what occurred last night. It was hazy, but it was there. Most of it, anyway.

She knew that she and Tobin had kissed. A lot. But that was pretty much the only thing she had been sure about.

Christen really wasn't quite sure what she'd said that caused the kissing to happen. How much had she told Tobin? What did Tobin say back? Trying to remember it now was beyond impossible and it made her head hurt even more. 

All Christen wanted now was answers, and although she wasn't sure if or when she was going to get them, she was willing to wait.

For Tobin, she was willing to wait.

CHRISTEN'S RESPONSE HAD MADE TOBIN FEEL ALMOST DISAPPOINTED. The thought that Tobin was the only one who remembered the kissing, the heat, the hunger... it upset her. Only Tobin knew what Christen had said to her, what her hands had done to Tobin's body, what her tongue had done.

Still, she was glad that Christen had tried to call her instead of texting. Tobin was crazy about Christen's voice — it was sweet and feminine and punctuated with the occasional giggle — and she liked it so much that it was probably one of her favorite things about Christen.

But then again, Tobin had so many things she liked it seemed impossible to narrow it down to specific favorites.

Tobin was scheduled to go back to Portland today, and Christen was meant to see her off at the airport (on Jill's orders, of course), but Tobin wondered if Christen would show.

She was itching to text Christen about the matter, but decided she wouldn't; she thought it might influence Christen's final decision.

Thankfully, sticking to Jill's word proved to be important to Christen, who was waiting at the airport when Tobin arrived.

"Hey," Tobin said through a breath as she took her bags out of the trunk of the taxi.

"Hi." Christen paused before she asked, "Did you, um, d-did you listen to the voicemail?"

"Yeah." _God, Tobin, why are you being so stupid? Can't you give her a better answer?_

"Oh. Okay." Silence. "I just want to apologize to you again, really, that was so out of line, and I know I'm old enough to know better. I can promise you it won't happen again. Seriously, I—"

"It wasn't a problem," Tobin interrupted, offering Christen a smile. "Really. It's fine."

"No, no, I was a handful last night. That's how I am when I drink too much. Gosh, I can't even imagine how you were able to put up with me."

"Christen, seriously," Tobin put a hand on Christen's arm to get her to stop. "You're fine."

Tobin pulled her hand away as she noticed Christen eyeing it.

Were their interactions always this... awkward? 

Maybe "awkward" wasn't the right way to put it. It was probably something closer to "sexually tense," although Tobin would never admit something like that to Christen.

They didn't talk much after that, except to say their goodbyes.

"I hope you have a safe flight," Christen said. Tobin was annoyed at this because she just knew Christen was one of those people who said stuff like that — trivial stuff, like those little phrases everyone says — but actually meant it. Tobin tried her best to match Christen's sincerity with a "thanks" and a grin, but it was impossible. 

That was something Tobin liked about Christen that didn't have to do with her appearance. Christen was probably the most sincere person Tobin had come to know. She was always thoughtful and never was one for saying useless stuff she didn't mean. She just never said a whole lot, _that_ was the problem.

"And according to Jill's schedule, I'll be in Portland by the end of the week."

"Yup."

"Alright then." See? This was always awkward. What were they supposed to do when they said goodbye?

Without warning, Christen flung herself around Tobin's body, holding Tobin tightly in her arms. Christen was good at hugging.

Tobin was startled, but by no means was she mad about it. She whispered to Christen, "Did you see photographers or something?"

"No. I just thought you needed one."

"Why?"

"I dunno, it looked like you did." After a few more seconds, Christen broke away with a soft smile and said, "I guess I'll see you on Thursday night then, Tobin Heath."

How did this all seem so easy for Christen?

THE WHOLE WEEK CHRISTEN STRESSED OVER HOW TO EXPLAIN HERSELF. She'd always prided herself on her honesty. She couldn't believe she'd lied to Tobin like that. Now, as the days went by, her words in that voicemail were eating her alive.

Tobin _had_ to know the truth.

Especially if it might've involved a confession from Christen.

She still couldn't remember just what she had said that night, even after having spent hours racking her brain for answers.

This problem had become so serious that she couldn't stop thinking about it, day and night. Tobin had been appearing in her dreams these days — on most nights, actually — and Christen always woke up from them hugging a pillow to her body while sweating to death in some feverish state and, more often than not, _really_ turned on. 

It was so, so embarrassing. She'd never been outwardly sex positive, but it seemed her subconscious and her body had other ideas for her.

She was feeling grossed out by herself in more ways than one.

And the night before she left for Portland was no different. This dream was the worst of them all.

_CHRISTEN GASPED FOR AIR AS SHE BROKE AWAY FROM TOBIN'S LIPS. It was just the two of them, just her and Tobin in the locker room, and Tobin's hands were up underneath Christen's jersey, making Christen go crazy. Tobin had Christen's back pressed up against the lockers, and Christen wasn't fighting it._

_As they kissed, Tobin nearly tore through Christen's clothes, and although it took a minute, give or take, for Tobin to undress Christen, it still felt like they were taking too long._

_There was something especially hot about the sense of urgency they were sharing._

_They didn't want to get caught._

_And then out of nowhere, the words escaped Tobin through a labored breath—_

_"Now be good for me, will you?"_

_For some reason, those words lit Christen on fire, and she nodded without a word. She was always eager to please. Especially if it was Tobin that she would be pleasing._

_She winced and bit down on her lip as Tobin's fingers did their work. It wasn't painful; she was trying to hold back, refusing to give into the pleasure that was already building within her._

_Christen was being selfish. She didn't want Tobin to stop or for this to end._

_No one had ever touched her so well._

_Moaning was embarrassing, but Christen was appropriately compensated for it: Tobin would always say something like, "that's right" or "you're being so good" or "you're doing so well." Christen hated that these words worked on her, but she craved them._

_So she moaned for Tobin, called out for her._

_Christen needed those words — they served as her reward._

_And when it was all over, and what remained of Christen was just her exhausted, naked body in a heap on the cold tiled floor, Tobin leaned forward and brushed her middle and ring fingers — the ones she'd been using just then — across Christen's parted lips._

_Tobin tightened her ponytail as she breezily walked away, and just as she was about to walk through that swinging locker room door, she turned and said through a Tobin Heath grin—_

_"Good game, Press."_

HER WHOLE BODY WAS TREMBLING WHEN SHE AWOKE. She was covered in sweat and wet between her thighs.

She felt humiliated.

As she was catching her breath, Christen forced herself to think of anything else, sitting upright in her bed in the middle of the night, biting her nails. It wasn't working very well; it felt like Tobin was always there. So she tried harder, her hands curled into fists and her teeth clenched so tight tears escaped from the corners of her eyes.

But Tobin always broke her focus. It was this back-and-forth thing for the rest of the night, and Christen never managed to fall back asleep.

How was she supposed to face Tobin like this? Christen thought she was becoming some kind of sexually depraved monster. She was sure this was some karmic punishment for having lied to Tobin, and now, she was absolutely certain she'd never do it again.

The only way out was telling Tobin the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.


	9. Drop Everything Now, Meet Me in the Pouring Rain (Get Me With Those Green Eyes, Baby)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title lyric is from Taylor Swift's "Sparks Fly." It was very difficult for me to choose between songs about green eyes, but this song is an ANTHEM. Taylor's old music is so good, I don't understand what people have against it.
> 
> This chapter occurs in Portland, a week after the events of Christen's drunk date night, and it starts with Tobin's dream state. The POV switches between the two of them, and I apologize this one took me so long.
> 
> Oh, and my nation's president, Becky Sauerbrunn, makes her first official appearance!
> 
> I haven't got much more to say, so I hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading even though it's a little overdue :)

_"DO YOU LIKE THAT, BABY?" Christen asked in a sultry whisper. "Is it good for you?"_

_Tobin could barely form the word "yes." But what she really wanted to say was, "I don't ever want you to stop."_

_Surprisingly, Christen was on top of her — it was unexpected but not unappreciated — and she was naked, which further interested Tobin._ _Earlier, she'd only gotten to experience Christen's body with her eyes, and it was almost as torturous as it was thrilling._

_But now, Tobin's hands were free to touch and feel, and Christen was encouraging her._

_Tobin was confident that the only thing that felt better than Christen's fingers was her tongue. Tobin could feel her toes curling and her hands grabbing for the sheets as Christen's mouth explored her—_

And Tobin moaned her name as she awoke in a sweat.

She'd fallen asleep on the couch while watching Christen's highlight tapes. Again.

Embarrassed, Tobin shut her laptop and focused on catching her breath. She chided herself, _This doesn't mean anything. It was just a dream._

But she'd never had such an exciting dream before, a dream that she wished hadn't ended.

When she had that dream, it'd only been a few days since Christen's drunk incident, but Tobin was already going crazy.

Her Christen Press crush was becoming a bigger problem as they talked more. They texted almost every day, and they were close friends now — at least, that was how Tobin would characterize the relationship — but every text they exchanged gave Tobin butterflies, and it had gotten to the point where Tobin would be eager to pick up her phone whenever it chimed because there was a possibility it was Christen.

It was really hard to not be attracted to Christen, especially now that they actually knew each other well. Christen was this hot, intimidating, clever footballer on the outside, but the more Tobin got to know her, she saw that Christen was the most adorable person on the inside.

Tobin took notice of Christen's little habits, like the way she put her finger on her nose whenever she had to think hard about something, or how she would always furrow her brow and chew on the inside of her cheek whenever the team huddled up during a timeout.

Thankfully, Christen seemed oblivious. She treated Tobin exactly as she treated the rest of their teammates, with the exception of what happened on their date night the week earlier.

 _You can't make anything of what happened. Christen was plastered_ , Tobin repeated to herself.

She'd spent the rest of the week trying to discern what was serious about what Christen had told her, if anything at all.

Tobin debated telling Kelley, but told Becky instead; Becky was more likely to tell her the truth, not what Tobin might've wanted to hear, which is undoubtedly what she would've gotten from Kelley.

"That's a tough one, Tobs," Becky had said over the phone. "I mean, I've never found myself in a situation like that. Yikes."

"I just... I need an explanation. I think I deserve that much, you know?"

"Was she really blackout?"

"Definitely. Without a shadow of a doubt. She couldn't even walk a straight line."

Tobin heard laughing on the other end of the call, but Becky did make a point: "Well, you know that phrase, _in vino veritas_."

"Huh?"

(Sometimes Becky was too smart for her own good.)

"It's Latin, from this philosopher called Pliny the Elder," Becky explained. "One of the common English translations is, 'A drunk mind speaks sober thoughts.'"

"So, you're basically saying there's a chance that she was being honest."

"A chance," Becky agreed. "But you should probably have a conversation about what happened. It's too big of a deal to just sweep under the rug. You're going to have to confront her about what occurred."

As much as Tobin didn't want to, she knew Becky was right.

A few days later, about an hour before Christen's flight was scheduled to take off, Tobin shot off a text before she could think too much about the words or what she was saying:

"Meet me on the pitch at 10pm."

Tobin wanted to meet with Christen in a neutral location, and there was no better place than the one she knew like the back of her hand—

Providence Park.

And she had trust that Christen would know where to go.

_MEET ME ON THE PITCH AT 10PM._ Christen read Tobin's words over and over again, trying to extract any and all information she could. She spent the entire flight thinking about it; it was a red-eye, technically, and usually, Christen would've slept through it, but this was too stressful.

She assumed when Tobin said "the pitch," she meant the Thorns' playing field. Christen was almost 100% that was what Tobin had meant. But that was about it; the rest of it made little sense at all.

What did she want to talk about? They weren't supposed to see each other until the next day, but it must've been something urgent for Tobin to call Christen out late at night to meet up. Countless ideas swirled around in Christen's head—

What if Tobin told Christen she wanted to breach the contract and break up?

What if Tobin knew that Christen had lied to her in that voicemail?

The amount of unknowns and endlessness of the possibilities made Christen feel dizzy.

But she knew that she would meet Tobin there at her request, come hell or high water.

The plane touched down at 7 o'clock, Portland time, which felt like 9 in Chicago time. 

Chrsiten formulated a plan: she would get her bags, go to her hotel to drop them off, make herself decent — ugh, this was the annoying part, because no matter what she did, she never looked good after a flight — and then she'd take an Uber to Providence Park to meet Tobin.

It was simple.

As she carried out this simple plan, she realized that 10pm was approaching faster than she'd expected. The jet lag was starting to kick in as her internal clock approached midnight, but she knew she had to see Tobin.

So with one last look in the mirror, she took a deep breath and left the hotel room. 

And suddenly it didn't feel so simple anymore.

As soon as Christen stepped into the Uber, she felt suffocated, overwrought with anxiety. With every streetlight she drove past, her chest felt tighter. She was a wreck.

There was nothing Christen liked better than being in control, but Tobin was a wild card.

Christen never knew what Tobin's next move was. It made Tobin great at football, but so incredibly hard to figure out. 

So as she was summoned to the field late at night — which felt spontaneous in itself — Christen felt so utterly out of control.

She wanted to tell the driver to turn around, or to just let her get out of the car, but she couldn't say a word.

Christen wouldn't allow herself to flake on Tobin; one of her best qualities was her reliableness.

(It wasn't her honesty anymore, now that she'd lied to Tobin and everything.)

Christen's stomach dropped as the car slowed to a smooth stop in front of the stadium, and her hands wobbled as she opened the car door. She weakly thanked the driver and trudged toward the gates. There was a drizzle overhead, which was very on-brand for a place like Portland, yet she wasn't bothered by it.

She looked up to the night sky to calm her nerves. The stars appeared hazy, with the city's light pollution having put a damper on their luminescence, but they were still there.

The stars here looked almost the same as they did back home — she was on the West Coast, after all — and the sense of familiarity actually made her feel a little better.

Christen put on a brave face and made her way through the gates, refusing to look back.

It was time to confess.

THERE WAS SOMETHING PEACEFUL ABOUT A DARK, EMPTY PITCH. Tobin hadn't been out to the field late at night like this since college, when she would scrimmage with her teammates whenever they were up for it, and she'd missed this feeling, that stealthiness they needed to have, the secrecy of it.

Tobin had been standing in the rain at midfield since 9:45. Just standing in the center, thinking about what she should say. And although she'd been thinking all day — all week, actually — she was coming up empty. No words had come to her mind.

And then she saw a figure walking onto the field, timidly at first, and then quickening.

It was Christen for sure.

She was walking right up the middle of the field, and the floodlights shining down on her made her look ethereal. Christen wasn't in her jersey, but she could've been given the confidence she was walking with.

As she came closer, she announced, "I have to tell you something important."

 _Thank God she's starting the_ _conversation_.

They were a few feet apart from each other when Christen stopped, the midfield line in between them. 

And out of nowhere, Christen finally blurted out—

"I don't remember what I said that night. But I remember what we did. I-I just... I'm sorry I lied to you."

Tobin didn't know what to say to this.

She wasn't mad, really, but she was definitely confused. 

A silence hung over them for some time, and the only indication that the world was still turning was that the rain kept falling on them.

Tobin was hesitant to speak, but she realized she hadn't said anything this whole time, so she might as well tell Christen about what was really on her mind. Tobin had to put it all out on the table.

"Hey," she began, still a little out of breath, "I have to tell you this. It's been getting at me for a while, and I just, you know, I have to put it out there. I can't stand you not knowing."

Before Christen could reply, Tobin confessed—

"I'm really, really into you, Christen Press. I like you so much that it makes me upset that you can't see how amazing you are. I like you so much that I never want to stop texting you or hang up the phone. You're all I think about these days, seriously. I-I, um, I'm not any good at this kind of stuff, but I just—"

Christen marched forward deliberately, over the line, and she took Tobin's face in her hands and kissed her.

And of course, after the initial shock wore off, Tobin kissed back, slipping her arms around Christen's waist.

It felt so natural and so right.

_In vino veritas._

A drunk mind speaks sober thoughts.

Even through her drunkenness, it seemed Christen had meant what she'd said. 

As they broke apart, Christen asked softly, "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Tobin couldn't think of anything to say to this. She didn't know if she would be able to speak if she tried. Christen's gaze was locked on Tobin, and Tobin was almost afraid of the intensity that glowed in Christen's perfect green dreamboat eyes.

"I... I was scared. I didn't know what you'd say," Tobin finally managed to answer.

"Why? It's just me."

"I know," Tobin said, "That's why."

Christen bit down on her bottom lip and glanced at the ground. Upon looking up again, she said, "Well, for someone who claims they're not good at this, you're pretty smooth, Tobin Heath."

"I wouldn't say that."

"You're not on the receiving end," Christen pointed out. "And I have to say, first and foremost, that I'm honestly _floored_ by this. This came way out of left field. I never would have expected this, not in a million years."

 _These sound like rejection_ words, Tobin noted in her mind. _Is she going to reject me?_

Christen went on. "I'm also incredibly flattered. I've never been told anything like this, straight-up. And coming from _you_ , well..." Her voice trailed off in a sigh.

"So I'll be just as straight-up with you, then. When we first, you know, crossed paths at the NCAA championships — yes, in 2009, in Texas — I was already a little attracted to you. When you were on the senior team right out of college, I used to watch all the videos with you in them to listen to what you were saying about playing for the team. I wanted to play on that team so bad... to be with you."

"And then all this stuff with these dating contracts happened a few years later, and now that we spend a bunch of time together, I have to say that I'm liking you more and more. Whenever we would hang out in a group, with Alex and Sydney and Pinoe, you were always that cool funny girl, but now I know you better, and it's like, 'she's more than that.'"

"What does this all mean, Press? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, I think we should actually, um, you know... date. Outside of the contract."

After a pause, Tobin asked, "Really? You... you mean it?"

"Um, yeah," Christen replied, her voice seeming a little nervous. "Well, what do you think?"

With confidence, Tobin said through a smile—

"Yeah. Let's do it."


	10. Tell Me All of the Things That Make You Feel at Ease (Your Touch, My Comfort, and My Lullaby)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric is some good ol' Troye Sivan from a song called "EASE." I still listen to the Blue Neighbourhood album sometimes even though it came out literally FIVE years ago. And wow, it doesn't feel like it's been five years.
> 
> This chapter occurs in maybe mid-March 2017, in Portland, and even though it's kind of short, it's very cute.
> 
> I also apologize about the wait on this one, I've been lacking inspiration these days, but I will keep moving! Thanks for the overwhelming support on the last chapter, it was totally unexpected!
> 
> Anyway, I'll let you get reading now...

THEY'D BEEN TOGETHER ABOUT A MONTH AND A HALF WHEN JILL URGED THEM TO LIVE TOGETHER. Of course, they'd been "together" — fake together — for something like six months, which still seemed like it was too soon, but Jill was relentless.

"Come on, you two, the people want action. They want this relationship to keep moving," Jill explained, as though she knew exactly what the people wanted. 

Since they'd been set up by Jill and corporate, Christen and Tobin had done three more ad campaigns and a live TV interview that wasn't half bad. According to Jill, though, that wasn't enough.

Despite their arguably productive work life, they had been taking it very slowly with one another for the past month and a half.

At that point, they still hadn't gone any farther than they had that night at Christen's, or their night on the field at Providence Park.

Since then, they hadn't done anything more than touched each other's hands. Maybe now that they were living together, they'd get more action.

Christen had been excited to move into Tobin's apartment — that was what Jill had decided on, to move Christen to Portland, probably just to torture Christen more — yet she was still unfamiliar with the city. She didn't know where streets led to or what coffee shops to go to. She would miss the familiarity of Chicago.

But now, after a week of Portland living, Christen was starting to get the hang of it. She knew about the small-batch coffee place that was closest to Providence Park, the one that Tobin frequented, and she knew that she shouldn't cross Willamette River to get anywhere; Tobin told her that everything Christen would need was on the Southwest side, where they lived, and that going anywhere else was a chore.

It was getting better.

But there were some things about Portland that sucked.

Like the rain.

It was charming at first, the light showers that would come and go over the course of a morning. Those were fine.

What Christen didn't like was the thunderstorms. She'd only experienced one so far, and Tobin promised her that they didn't happen too often, but Christen _hated_ thunderstorms.

On that day, Christen awoke upon hearing a loud noise. Her alarm hadn't gone off yet, but then she pushed back the curtains and saw what was happening outside.

It must've been thunder.

The rain was heavier than what she'd ever encountered before — having spent most of her life in Southern California, she'd never had to deal with much rain — and the wind was blowing hard, so hard that Christen could hear it, which made her nervous.

She woke up Tobin, who wasn't pleased with Christen when she found out why she'd been waken up. 

"Christen, it's just a thunderstorm or something, it's not a big deal. Go back to sleep."

"Well, you say that, but what if, like, the lightning goes through the window? And you're asleep? What'll you say then, huh? Nothing, because the window shattered into a million pieces and you get a million cuts and you bleed out and die. In your sleep. Because of the lightning," Christen replied huffily.

"You're being crazy," Tobin said through a tired groan. "Nothing like that will happen."

"You never know," Christen cautioned. She shook Tobin's body again and asked, "Will you please wake up?"

"Fine, but only because it's funny that you're scared of thunderstorms."

Christen made a point of correcting Tobin: "Not 'scared.' More like, 'wary of.'"

"Oh, yes, what a big difference, my apologies," Tobin teased as she stretched out her arms. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

"Um, yes, please."

"No problem."

As Tobin got up to go to the kitchen, Christen saw a beam of lightning rip the sky in two, and not more than three or four seconds later, heard a heavy bout of thunder come in. She winced.

Christen liked nature, but she liked her nature quiet and peaceful. Like, the sound of birds chirping. Not... _this_.

"Here, I got you green tea, it's supposed to calm you down."

"Thank you," Christen said as she sipped it. She'd wrapped herself in a big blanket and she sat on the couch, trying to assess the storm's next move. She anxiously awaited the next strike of lightning. She couldn't keep her eyes away from the window.

And when it came, she burrowed further into her blanket so that it would cover her ears, saving her from the rumble of thunder that she hated so much.

Except it didn't work. The thunder was loud.

"You're cute when you're scared, you know," Tobin told her.

"I told you, I'm not scared," Christen insisted again, blushing now. "I'm wary."

She frowned at Tobin, who failed to stifle a laugh.

The rainfall was so intense that Christen thought that it might break through the windows. Tobin tried to keep her talking to take her focus away from the storm, and just as Christen was starting to almost feel better—

The lights went out, and Tobin's apartment went completely dark.

Christen couldn't contain a surprised shriek.

Then the thunder came, its presence aggressive and unforgiving, making the room shake and the windows rattle. Christen grabbed onto Tobin's arm tight and blinked back tears.

Maybe she _was_ scared.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Christen replied, but her voice was wobbly. 

"No, you're not," Tobin disagreed. "You gotta tell me, Christen, what's your problem with storms?"

"Nothing," Christen urged. "I'm fine. Quit it."

"I can't just ignore your thunderstorm-phobia! Plus, there's nothing else to do, I have no idea when the generator might kick in."

"Okay." Christen took a deep, shuddering breath before she began her story. "I was 15 or 16. I was at soccer camp in upstate New York, and the weather was fine, up until there was this freak rainstorm. It just showed up out of nowhere. The pitch was almost flooded by the time we gathered up everything and tried to make it inside."

"Naturally, I ran to the dorms, but the power was out. I was already kind of panicking, and I had run maybe a half mile from the field to the building, in the rain, and I had just been playing, so I was out of breath. I would've taken the elevator up, but the power was out, so I couldn't, and I had to take a flight of stairs."

"So, in the dark, I was going through the hallway as best I could, and I finally made it to the stairs, and I started, you know, running up them, and I was super confident because obviously I used to run a bunch of stairs for training. But I was wearing my boots, and the spikes made me slip, so then I wiped out on a concrete staircase in the dark."

"I remember lying on the stairs and feeling my head bleeding and thinking that no one was going to find me because I was all alone in the stairway and I was worried I might die. But they found me a few minutes later, and they got me to some medic or whatever, but I wasn't cleared to play because I'd gotten a concussion."

"So I had to sit out the rest of camp with a concussion and then fly back across the country, back to LAX. And _that_ is the worst football-related injury I've ever gotten. And I wasn't even playing."

All Tobin managed to say was, "Wow."

"Yep." Christen took another sip of her tea.

"How do you remember all of that if you were concussed?"

"It's ironic, isn't it? It was very traumatic for me. I remember hearing the thunder outside as I was waiting for people to find me, and it would echo because I was in a stairwell, and it was so painful just listening to it because I was concussed. I hated how noisy it was. It made me feel literally sick."

"That story sounds... I mean, that's pretty awful."

"Yeah. Well, I still got into Stanford, though, so I guess my brain still works."

"I don't know about that," Tobin laughed, and if Christen could see her, she would've punched her.

"But hey," Tobin pointed out, "you're not alone now. You're with me. And don't worry, I've got you."

Christen didn't know if it was Tobin's words or the hot tea that was making her feel all warm inside.

But it wasn't long before another flash of lightning, illuminating the living room for all of a half of a second, and then an angry roll of thunder. Christen's hands were shaky now, and her breathing was shallow.

"Hey, shh, you're okay," Tobin soothed, moving in toward Christen. Christen could feel an arm settling down over her shoulders, and something in Christen's mind told her to lean in closer. And to her delight, Tobin didn't reject it.

In a low voice, Tobin asked, "Do you want to go back to bed?"

"I won't be able to fall asleep."

"I get that," Tobin said through a yawn, "but it's so much comfier in bed. Come on."

"Okay." Tobin grabbed her wrist and pulled Christen through the apartment and back into the bedroom. Christen felt a hand ease her onto the bed and her body sank into the comforter. Tobin was right.

Then, with no pillow between them, Tobin laid down on the bed next to Christen and wrapped her arms around Christen. 

And in that moment, Christen could finally breathe again.

Even in spite of the storm outside, she felt drowsy as Tobin's fingers explored ringlets of her hair, and before she knew it, she could barely keep her eyes open.

So this was what safety felt like.

Christen was loving it.

TOBIN NOTICED THAT CHRISTEN HAD FALLEN ASLEEP IN HER ARMS AFTER A WHILE. It was a little awkward with Tobin as the big spoon, because she was smaller than Christen, but she was loving every minute of it.

She loved the way Christen's soft hair felt between her fingers, the way she smelled, the sound of her breathing as it evened out.

Tobin was a month and a half into dating Christen Press and she was already sure that she was in love with her.

She couldn't tell her yet — it was way too soon, and she didn't want to freak Christen out and make the relationship awkward — so Tobin kept it to herself, which was fine with her. She was perfectly content with making sure Christen felt safe and happy. That was her number one priority now.

It was crazy how Tobin felt her priorities shifting. If Tobin had to choose between playing pro football or being with Christen, she'd choose Christen. Which was totally crazy. But that was just how Tobin felt about her.

Tobin sighed, smiling to herself as the rain kept falling down outside. 

And when she was sure Christen was fast asleep again, she planted a kiss on the top of Christen's head and brought her body in closer.

Tobin could stay here with Christen in her arms for the rest of her life.


	11. I'm Just the Sucker Who Let You Fill Her Mind (Just Move in Close to Me, Closer...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric is from "The Louvre" by Lorde, a song I just can't get tired of, and I don't think I ever will. Apparently she has new music coming out soon? Well, I need it NOW.
> 
> You guys had a shorter wait for this one (yay!) but in return, it's a little short. Leaves on a very interesting note. Also, like 70% of this chapter is smut. Sorry. I had to write it sometime. 
> 
> Also, over quarantine, I became a Glee stan, so I'm very distraught about the disappearance of Naya Rivera. Don't let her stop trending on Twitter. We have to find her, we can't stop searching.
> 
> Well, I'll let you read now. Have fun :)

IT DIDN'T TAKE TOO LONG FOR CHRISTEN TO GET ADJUSTED TO PORTLAND LIVING. Of course, with the NWSL season starting up soon, she'd have to leave Tobin and go back to Chicago for the time being to train with the team, and she was dreading her departure already. 

Living with Tobin was fantastic.

Christen had never really been in a serious relationship with a girl before — back in college, she was hookup buddies with the shortstop on Stanford's softball team, and in Sweden, she'd had a brief fling with Jenni Hermoso — so Christen didn't know what to expect from Tobin. 

But she was pleasantly surprised. Every day, she and Tobin would wake up at the same time, and while Christen was doing her morning meditation, Tobin would go out and get coffee for the two of them.

Tobin wasn't much of a cook, so she ran errands instead while Christen made dinner. They would go out to eat once or twice on a weekend to keep Jill and the media happy. They would watch Glee while folding laundry and Tobin would tease Christen for having a crush on Santana.

Within a month, they'd established a routine, and they almost felt like a family. 

And to have it all taken apart now was such a shame. 

Christen feared their relationship would regress if they weren't together all the time.

And it wasn't like they went far already; they hadn't done anything more than cuddle and make out since they'd started dating.

Christen was determined to go all the way with Tobin before she left. She'd heard from Ashlyn that in college, Tobin had been considered good in bed — of course, not from Ashlyn's personal experience, but it was reliable secondhand news — and now, Christen was willing to see if the rumors were true.

"What are you gonna do without me, Heath?" Christen asked on the night before she left, lying in bed in between Tobin's legs with _Friends_ on the TV.

"Wait for you to come back," Tobin replied after a pause. Christen felt her cheeks get hot, and Tobin followed with, "And I'll have to order takeout everyday. This is really gonna suck."

"I'm gonna miss you like crazy," Christen admitted. She felt Tobin's arms hug her tighter. "We've still got one thing left to do, though."

"What? You've packed everything, right? I... oh." Tobin fell silent when she realized. Christen craned her neck to look up at Tobin, and she was pleased to see that Tobin was smiling to herself, that signature Tobin Heath grin that Christen was obsessed with.

"I think," Tobin began, putting her hands on Christen's waist and pulling her up closer, "I think I know what you want."

"Yeah?" Christen giggled.

"Mm-hmm," Tobin said. Then, with her voice brought down to a whisper, she asked Christen, "Now take off your shirt, will you?"

Christen leaned forward and threw off her shirt as fast as she could, falling back into Tobin's arms.

She inhaled sharply as she felt Tobin's mouth on the side of her neck.

She always did, every time. It worked like magic.

But Tobin's hands running over the front of her body was an even bigger shock.

She hoped Tobin wouldn't be bothered by the goosebumps that covered her body now.

By the time Tobin was finished with Christen's neck, she'd made sure to leave plenty of evidence; Christen would soon find out that Tobin had left a trail of hickeys. Tobin's hands slowly slid down from Christen's chest to her belly and rested there as Tobin demanded—

"Get rid of those shorts and bring your knees up for me."

Christen obeyed, and with no hesitation, Tobin pushed a hand in between Christen's bare legs, spreading them apart. Tobin's left hand, her dominant hand, massaged the inside of Christen's thigh, starting at her knee, and moving down, down, down—

Ending up at Christen's panties.

She couldn't keep in a gasp.

"Seems like someone's excited, yeah?" Tobin murmured, her tone sultry and playful at the same time. Brazenly, Tobin's fingertips brushed against the wetness. 

Christen bit down on her lip to keep herself from making noise. She knew that soon it'd be impossible to do so.

Wordlessly, Tobin's thumb crept around the waistband and Christen could only watch in awe as Tobin pulled them off her.

"Can I touch you here, angel? Will you let me?"

"Yeah," Christen said, but it came out as a whine. No one had ever asked her for consent before, not in a way that was so... sexy. She swallowed hard and responded with more clarity in her voice: "Yes. Please."

"Very good." Christen's breath caught in her throat as she felt Tobin's middle and ring fingers drawing circles on her sensitive skin, teasing her, making her wait. Christen was so angry at Tobin for this. Christen was angry because she knew Tobin knew what she was doing, and Christen felt wrong for liking it so much.

Unaccompanied by its busy companion, Tobin's right hand made its way back to Christen's chest, now daring to travel under her bra, causing a moan to escape Christen's lips. Just as she'd thought, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from being noisy. 

And then, just as Tobin's fingers slipped inside her, she started talking—

"You're doing so well, Christen," which was soon to be followed by, "You're being so good."

Something about Tobin's words had so much firepower to them; Christen had never felt so defenseless before. As Tobin continued to take Christen with her fingers, sweet-talking her senseless—

Christen reached her breaking point, back arched, fists full of bed sheets.

When Christen managed to catch her breath, Tobin asked, "Was that what you wanted?"

"Yeah," Christen sighed through a smile, "Something along those lines." Her voice was shaky. She peeled herself away from Tobin's body and turned to face her. Tobin looked awfully smug.

"That's probably the best going-away present I could've gotten," Christen remarked. It was cheesy, but that was how she was sometimes.

And as she heard Tobin laugh, she realized that she would miss this more than she thought she would. Not even the sex part, but everything about Tobin: her laugh, her smile, her jokes, her voice. Their routine. Living in Portland.

"Tobin Heath," Christen began, "I think this whole screwed-up situation is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Jeez, Christen, it wasn't that good."

"No, you dork, I mean this _entire_ ordeal. The contract dating and the real dating and living together. I..." Christen forced herself to find the courage within her to say the next statement. "I don't want to be without you." 

"Then stay here. Play for the Thorns. Come on. You, me, Horan, Sonnett, Harry, Kling... it would be perfect. We'd be unstoppable."

"I can't breach my Red Stars contract, Tobin, you know that."

A silence fell over them.

"So you're really leaving tomorrow, huh?"

"Yep."

And inadvertently, or perhaps knowingly, Tobin repeated what Christen had told her before—

"I'm gonna miss you like crazy."

SEEING CHRISTEN OFF AT THE AIRPORT WAS MORE PAINFUL THAN TOBIN WOULD'VE LIKED TO ADMIT. She didn't know how she was supposed to go back to her apartment alone, go to sleep by herself, and wake up the next day without Christen next to her.

Hanging out with Christen was the right amount of comfortable and daunting at the same time.

Christen was a little intimidating. Not just because of her devastatingly good looks, but because of her intelligence and self-awareness. But then again, Christen had childlike tendencies, like her fears of thunderstorms and the dark, and how she could talk your ear off about football or meditation or dogs.

Even if they weren't an item, Tobin would've liked to have been roommates with Christen, simply because she was a lot of fun.

And when Tobin opened the apartment door and found room empty with the lights turned off, she couldn't help but sigh.

On any other day, Christen would've been cooking something for dinner, or doing an online yoga class, or reading one of those Deepak Chopra books she favored. 

It didn't feel the same without her.

It wasn't "home" anymore. It was just "Tobin's apartment."

Tobin didn't know what else to do but call Christen. Of course, since she was probably taking off now, it went to voicemail, so Tobin left a message:

> _Hey, Christen... it's Tobin. You're, I mean, you're flying back to Chicago right now, and... gosh, I don't even know what I'm trying to say here, haha. I just... I miss you. Already. And you might not be ready to hear this, so, I'm sorry, but I'm ready to say it— I love you. So... yeah. Call me back when you get this. Alright. Talk to you soon. Bye._


	12. Comfortable Silence Is So Overrated (Even My Phone Misses Your Call, by the Way)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric is from "From the Dining Table" which is one of my favorite Harry songs (okay, yeah, they're all my favorites). I'm pretty sure y'all can tell how much I love Harry Styles by now.
> 
> The day I posted my previous chapter was the day they recovered Naya Rivera's body, which also happened to be the 7th anniversary of Cory Monteith's death. I was very saddened by it, but I turned to writing to stop thinking about it.
> 
> Which is why this chapter is here so early. I have a feeling you guys will not be pleased with it, but I promise you everything will work out, it just felt like this approach was more natural than the alternative.
> 
> So, my dear readers, brace yourselves for a little bit of pain...

ALL TOBIN GOT IN RESPONSE WAS RADIO SILENCE. Tobin knew that saying "I love you" for the first time in a voicemail was risky, but she was confident that Christen would've reciprocated.

But it seemed to have backfired.

They hadn't spoken for almost three weeks.

No calls or texts.

Nothing.

Tobin had sent a few messages, but they weren't replied to.

Thankfully, there was a camp coming up, so they couldn't avoid each other then, but even a day without Christen felt like forever.

Tobin couldn't believe this was what her life was like before Christen Press. How was she not bored more often? Back then, before they were fake-together, when Tobin was alone, she didn't feel lonely or sad. But now, Tobin felt lonely in her apartment every day.

The sheets didn't smell like Christen anymore, and the kitchen appliances, aside from the fridge, hadn't been used since she'd left.

Day after day, when Tobin came home, she thought she might walk in to see Christen doing yoga in front of the big floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, or curled up on the couch reading or watching TV. 

But she was never there.

Christen's absence from Tobin's life began to affect Tobin's gameplay, too. She'd been going through a scoring slump, only having scored one goal in one game in these past few weeks, which was so unlike her. Tobin Heath was known to be a playmaker on the field, not just a warm body. But these days, she was this kind of Tobin-shell. 

As a Hail Mary, Tobin decided to text Christen one last time:

"Christen, I don't know what's going on between us, but let's talk it out at camp."

And to her utter surprise, Christen replied almost immediately:

"Ok."

Finally.

Tobin could breathe again with an "Ok" from Christen. She felt a little less upset, but she still didn't know why Christen gave her the silent treatment like that.

Thankfully, she'd find out in just a few days, but Tobin didn't even know if she could wait that long.

CHRISTEN HAD REPLAYED THE VOICEMAIL MORE TIMES THAN SHE WOULD'VE LIKED TO ADMIT. Yes, she'd heard Tobin tell her to "call her back when she got this." 

But for some reason, when Christen got off the plane at Chicago O'Hare and listened to that voicemail the first time, it threw her off.

First, the fact that Tobin had said "I love you" for the very first time in a _voicemail_ appalled Christen. As the days went by, it felt petty, but Christen thought that it should've been said in person, perhaps before she'd gotten on the plane. Or at least on a call with Christen on the other end of the line. 

Second, the fact that they'd only been _actually_ together for a little over a month and Tobin thought that she should say it. Christen hadn't really been in a serious relationship before, and she'd never told a romantic partner "I love you" before; she couldn't gauge if this was going too fast.

Which brought her to her third and final point; for some reason, Christen couldn't conjure a response.

She thought she knew herself better than anyone, but she couldn't tell if what she was feeling for Tobin was love or not. 

_That_ was what she'd been doing for the past three weeks.

Trying to determine whether or not she was in love with Tobin Heath.

That was pretty much the only thing on her mind. When she woke up in the morning, when she went to bed at night, during practice and games. It felt like almost every waking moment was spent thinking about her. 

But that didn't bother Christen at all.

She missed Tobin a hell of a lot more than she ever thought she would.

Christen's bed felt cold and empty at night, and she felt tired all day without Tobin making coffee runs in the morning. Whenever she cooked, she always made too much, because she was used to cooking for two, and whenever she did laundry, it took forever to fold, because now, she was alone.

And she was lonely.

Deep down, Christen knew that the real reason she'd replayed Tobin's voicemail so many times was because she was so desperate to hear the sound of Tobin's voice again.

To feel like she was with Tobin again.

To feel whole again.

"WHY'S PRESS MAD AT YOU?" Kelley pried at the baggage claim. Tobin didn't want to go into detail, much less admit fault, so she said, "What? No, she's not."

"Um, then why did she not sit next to you on the plane? Having a little trouble in paradise?"

Tobin did think it was annoying that Christen had refused to sit next to her on the plane ride. Even if they were fighting — were they fighting? — they were still, on paper, a couple. It made Preath seem suspicious. But by the time they were on the plane, Christen had sat down in between Pinoe and Becky, and it seemed that was that.

"I don't know, it's just... we're going through a disagreement of sorts right now," Tobin replied vaguely as she hauled her suitcase off the conveyor belt.

"Spill it," Kelley urged. "I have to know what's going on between you two."

"Go find your own girlfriend, Kelley," Tobin retorted. She didn't want to get in any bigger trouble than she was already in, so she used her better judgment and kept her mouth shut.

"Sheesh, Heath, you don't have to be so harsh. I'm just trying to help you guys, that's all."

"I'm sorry, Kelley. Really. But I think that Christen would probably want to keep this between the two of us."

"Since when were you so considerate, huh?" Kelley asked through a smirk. "Seems like chivalry isn't dead after all!"

Tobin caught herself smiling as she said, "You know, just making sure to respect her and all..." Her voice trailed off when she locked eyes with Christen.

She couldn't remember when exactly she'd fallen in love with those eyes, but they were one of the best parts of Christen.

But now, feeling Christen's eyes on her made her feel sick.

Because it was clear that Christen was pissed.

She'd never seen Christen get mad before, _ever_. She hadn't gotten a single red card in her professional career, of which Tobin had received plenty already. Christen never raised her voice and she never expressed frustration with... _anything_. 

So seeing an angry Christen was a shock to Tobin's system. And she felt nervous when she saw Christen approaching her; it wasn't a walk so much as it was a march toward Tobin.

In a low yet firm voice, Christen said—

"Come to my hotel room after dinner so we can talk. Got it?"

Tobin just nodded and she watched Christen walk off.

"Wow, didn't know you were Christen's bitch," Kelley teased. 

"I am _not_ her bitch," Tobin argued. "So don't go spreading that around."

"Oh, dude, everyone knows already, we can just see it," Kelley laughed. As she began to walk off, she said, "Good luck anyway. Hope it works out between you guys."

"Yeah," Tobin replied, her voice faraway. "I hope so too."

CHRISTEN WAS PLEASED TO SEE THAT TOBIN WAS THE ONE OUTSIDE HER ROOM. She wanted to smile, but she knew she shouldn't; she was supposed to be mad at Tobin.

As soon as the door closed behind Tobin, she led with, "Alright, Christen, what's your deal?" which was not how Christen wanted to approach the conversation. This made it easier for her to be mad at Tobin.

"'What's my deal?' What do you mean, 'what's my deal?' Tobin, you _know_ what you did. I can't—" Christen took a breath to calm down. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this worked up. "You told me 'I love you' in a voicemail!"

"I warned you," Tobin pointed out. "I said you might've not been ready to hear it."

"Which made it clear that you went against your better judgment," Christen reasoned. "This was on _you_."

"Christen, please, you can't look me in the eye and tell me you don't feel the same. Come on."

Christen and Tobin met eyes for just a split second before Christen broke her gaze.

"I'm not sure yet," Christen said flatly through a sigh.

"You're not sure?!"

Somehow, Tobin was totally taken aback that Christen had yet to understand how she should feel in this relationship.

"Yes, because a month of dating isn't enough to tell whether or not I'm in love with a person!"

"Fine, if you want to play it this way, I'm okay with that," Tobin said, "But I know when you look at me, you feel something, because I do too. And when we kiss, it's, like, it's like we were meant for this. Like we were meant to be together. So don't blame me; _I'm_ the only one here who's willing to lay all my cards out on the table."

Tobin was right.

And when Christen heard Tobin mention kissing, all she wanted to do was go up and kiss Tobin.

So she did.

And Tobin kissed back. Hard.

Christen made a mental note that she should stop thinking sometimes because kissing Tobin was far better than thinking.

Thinking — overthinking, specifically — was what got her into this mess.

When she was kissing Tobin, she could just let go and let her problems melt away. All the time, Christen was this controlled, orderly person, but whenever she was with Tobin, her anxieties seemed to wash away like waves on a beach, giving her this wonderful sense of clarity.

And it was heaven until Tobin pushed her away and said, "Stop! What are you doing?!"

"I'm sorry, I-I..." Christen couldn't think of a response fast enough. Tears emerged in her eyes. "I just, I don't... I like kissing you! A lot!"

"Well, you can't go all mixed signals on me like this. It's not fair, Christen."

"I know," Christen said. She swallowed and gathered herself before she continued, "But Tobin, you can't go throwing words like 'love' around, like they mean nothing, because they mean something to me."

Tobin paused before she asked, her voice rising, "You think that I didn't mean it when I said it?"

"It seemed so unrealistic," cried Christen. "And so soon? It felt... I don't know, almost... _fake_."

"Jeez, Christen, just..." Tobin seemed really angry now, close to furious. "Just answer me this: why would I ever lie to you?"

"I-I don't know. I..." Christen's tears were catching up to her again, and her throat was closing. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I never called you back. I'm sorry I ignored you. _That_ was dumb. I'm sorry that... I'm sorry that I just, I can't make up my mind."

"This is something that we should've talked through," Tobin reflected, her voice softening. She sat down on the bed. "And I can see why you don't feel the same way about me."

"No, no, it's not..." Christen inhaled shakily, cautiously sitting next to Tobin. "It's not that I don't feel the same way. To tell you the truth, I've never really, um... I haven't been in a relationship before. Not, like, a serious one. And I take you very seriously. And I can't tell if we're going at, like, a reasonable speed. It all feels too fast for me."

"I lived with you for a month," Tobin said quietly, the anger gone from her voice, "and you never told me this?"

"It's embarrassing."

"No, it's not. It's normal," Tobin soothed. She looked up at Christen, reached out her hand, and tucked a lock of hair behind Christen's ear. "And I take you very seriously too. I just thought you should know that."

"Well, it's nice to hear," Christen said through a laugh.

"It is, isn't it?"

Christen looked up and was glad to see Tobin's smile had returned, albeit a little rueful.

"Really, Tobin, I'm sorry. I just... when I come across unfamiliar situations, I usually just ignore it until it goes away. Which is not the approach to take, I've found out. And..." Christen sighed. "It's not that I need more time, per se, it's that... I'm not sure what love is supposed to feel like. So I-I don't know if I can say it back. Yet."

"So... is that a maybe?"

Christen nodded, and as Tobin put a reassuring hand on her back, she said—

"You know, there's hope in maybe. I can live with maybe."

Christen threw her arms around Tobin and hugged her tight. "Tobin," she began, "you couldn't believe how much I missed you."

"Then why'd you give me the silent treatment?"

"I really, genuinely didn't know what to say back," Christen sighed. "I—"

"It's okay, Christen. And I'm sorry I said that so soon. But I mean it. Really. So I'm willing to wait for you." And after some time, Tobin whispered—

"I missed you, too. More than you'd ever know."

The two of them were like a couple of pieces in some sort of jigsaw puzzle; they weren't the right shape for anyone but each other.


	13. I Love It When You Try to Save Me, 'Cause I'm Just a Lady (So I'll Wait for You)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric is from one of my favorite King Princess songs (even though it's basic), "1950." Also, very appropriate considering this is a WLW fic. Also, King Princess is so hot... I literally cannot STAND it here. So unfair.
> 
> We've finally reached a fast-forward moment: we're now in mid-September, still 2017. This chapter is a deeper look into Christen's mental state and how the media is responding to Preath, but I think it satisfies both the Christen and Tobin stans alike. 
> 
> Spoiler but not spoiler: Tobin is a good protective girlfriend :)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this one, I think the next one might be a little messy...

THE SUMMER MONTHS PASSED QUICKER THAN EXPECTED. The NWSL season was almost at its end, which meant that Christen was already preparing to pack up her things and leave for Portland once again. But this time, she was excited.

Just some days earlier Jill had called the two of them to tell them that with this fake couple scheme, the USWNT had been saved from getting the axe; the team's brand wasn't profitable yet, but they were getting closer to being in the green.

Which reminded Christen that it'd been just over a year since this all started.

The only drawback to this ordeal was that, as time went on, it became increasingly difficult to avoid paparazzi. Whenever the Red Stars played the Thorns, Christen couldn't really leave her house in the light of day without being attacked by photographers.

In the past, the press had favored Tobin because of her talent and skill, but now that mainstream media was involved, they didn't really care about how either of them played; they liked Christen better because Christen was considered to be more attractive.

She couldn't see why they all said that.

Christen only saw the flaws and the things that needed to be fixed. In her first or second year of high school when she was diagnosed with body dysmorphia, she was much harder on herself than she was these days, but it was coming back to her now with the cameras on her so often.

Secretly, she despised the articles that had been written about her, the ones that called her "exotic" or "Amazonian" or similar things. They were meant as compliments, but they felt backhanded; all of those words worked to make her seem like she was abnormal or different in some way.

But what was worse were the hate comments. They were mostly about how flat Christen was or how she and Tobin shouldn't be together because Christen was Black and Tobin was White. Those comments cut the deepest.

Those comments made her head spin; they made her want to throw her phone at the wall and scream.

Christen realized she could no longer control what was said about her.

All she could do was keep a smile on her face and try to block out the distractions.

But choosing to be ignorant was hard sometimes. 

It wasn't only what people wrote about her, it was also the aggression in the attention she'd been receiving. The clicking and flashing in the stormy sea of cameras made her nervous, two or more microphones were always in her face whenever she stepped off the pitch, and the clamor and commotion that her presence caused was unbearable.

One of these days she'd have to confront Jill about enforcing some sort of media crowd control, or else Christen might have to get back on her anti-anxiety meds.

So, as excited as she was to return to Tobin, she knew that both airports and probably even the flight would be disastrous.

"CHRISTEN! CHRISTEN! WHERE ARE YOU OFF TO TODAY?" As soon as she stepped out of the car and went to grab her suitcase, it began. She pushed her sunglasses farther up on the bridge of her nose and took a deep yet shaky breath. She could do this.

She looked at her phone again to see Tobin's text:

"Can't wait for you to come home."

Christen smiled to herself. The fact that Tobin thought that Christen belonged at her Portland apartment made her feel so warm inside. Tobin made her feel safe and protected and happy.

But right now, she had to fight this uphill battle by herself.

The clicking noises and blinding flashes multiplied and photographers came in closer as she approached the entrance of the airport. Christen demanded to herself that she keep breathing, keep walking, and keep her mouth shut. That was the only way to make it through.

"Christen, are you going to Portland?"

"Where are you going?"

"Are you going to meet up with Tobin?"

"Please, give us a comment!"

"Tell us where you're flying to!"

They were catching up to her now. Christen knew she'd be safe once she got to the security checkpoint, and she felt awful as she begged the people in front of her to let her cut the line to get her boarding pass, but to her surprise, they let her.

Christen picked up speed once she got her ticket in an effort to lose some of the reporters. Thankfully, within a few minutes, she arrived at security, where airport staff shooed them away. She managed to make it through without incident.

As she searched for her gate, she realized that the paparazzi were still there; they were all the regular people in the terminal. She'd grown accustomed to feeling the cameras on her, whether they were professional or from iPhones.

Christen heard murmurs and whispers as she walked past, and she saw how people's expressions changed.

She was being watched. By many.

All she wanted was to go back to how it was before, when she was unseen, when her face and body were apt camouflage. 

Even on the plane, Christen couldn't relax. She was always conscious of how she looked. She forced herself to stay awake; she didn't want people to take pictures of her sleeping. A few of the passengers near her asked for an autograph, and she had no choice but to oblige.

Maybe she could talk Jill into chartering a private jet.

 _Oh, dream on_ , Christen chided herself. _Jill won't be making any special favors for you anytime soon._

TOBIN HELD A SIGN AS SHE WAITED PATIENTLY FOR CHRISTEN AT THE ARRIVALS AREA. Tobin didn't want to do it at first, but Allie and Kling were adamant she make a sign, so she did. It wasn't too flashy: it read, "Welcome Christen!" and she'd drawn some roses, for the Thorns, of course, and red stars, for Chicago's team.

She felt like an idiot now that she was all alone holding it up. She couldn't believe she'd been talked into it so easily.

Tobin tried her best to avoid talking to reporters and paparazzi but it was obvious why she was there. Needless to say, it was a relief to see Christen approaching, especially to see her smiling at the sign.

"Did you make this? For me?" Christen asked excitedly as she neared.

"I mean, yeah, it has your name on it. Duh."

"You know what I mean."

"I didn't want to at first," Tobin confessed, "but I got talked into it by Harry and Klingy. And sometimes I like a good art project."

"Well, I think it's very sweet. Thank you." Tobin couldn't help but beam.

The crowd seemed to have gotten thicker during their short conversation, but Tobin was determined to not let it bother her.

But Tobin could see in Christen's eyes that she was floundering; she looked deathly afraid of what lay ahead of her. "You're fine," Tobin coaxed quietly, "I got you. Take my hand. We can do this together. You're not alone."

Christen didn't react whatsoever, so Tobin grabbed her wrist and tried to pull her along. After a few tugs, Christen followed, and they fought their way through the mob of people, swimming through the rip current of cameras and microphones, slowly but surely making headway, their tight-lipped silence magnified by the reporters' incessant noise.

"Where are you two going?"

"Are you two going home together?"

"Would you mind making a comment for us?"

The questions never stopped.

Finally, they made it to the car. Tobin locked the doors as soon as they shut, and she jammed the key in the ignition. The paparazzi were still coming for them even from outside the vehicle, their bodies and equipment pushed up against the car, capturing more precious Preath photographs.

"Put your seatbelt on, Chris, we're getting out of here, stat."

Christen didn't respond; she looked absolutely petrified — her green eyes had gone wide as though she'd seen a ghost — and Tobin could've sworn she saw her trembling. Her lips were tight and aside from a few blinks, she did nothing.

"Christen? Are you okay?"

And again, nothing.

Frantically, Tobin reached over Christen's body to get her seatbelt on and clicked it into place. She honked the horn to get them to move the hell out of the way. They needed to go home. Now.

It was clear Christen was not okay.

IT WAS LIKE SHE WAS EXPERIENCING EVERYTHING AND NOTHING AT ONCE. The "everything" was the stuffiness of the crowds, the flash of a million cameras firing off at once, and the overwhelming murmur of voices that grew louder with each step forward.

The "nothing" was the feeling like the walls were closing in on her — there were no walls, of course, since she was outside, yet she still felt so utterly trapped. The "nothing" was the dull ache in her head that fought against the intensity of the "everything" to no avail.

The "nothing" was the emptiness of her lungs.

She couldn't breathe.

She was drowning. Or paralyzed. Perhaps both.

Christen was having an anxiety attack. A bad one. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had one so severe. Probably college. Her thoughts were choppy and fragmented like each of her shallow breaths, and the more she tried to set herself straight, the deeper she fell into this pit of panic and fear.

The only thing Christen could feel was Tobin's hand around her wrist and how it tugged her along through the mob.

She blinked her eyes what felt like just once, and the next thing she knew, she was in the car with Tobin, crossing Willamette River. They were close to home.

Home.

She was almost there.

That was what brought Christen back to life.

"Christen? Hello? What's the matter?"

She couldn't bring herself to speak yet — she couldn't form the words in her head — so she just turned to Tobin and threw her a helpless little smile as she blinked back tears.

"Hi. You... you responded. Great. Awesome. You okay?"

Christen nodded.

"We're almost home," Tobin reminded her, glancing back and forth between Christen and the road ahead.

And then the words came to Christen—

"Yes. I know."

"SO, UM, WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT THAT," Tobin said as Christen settled back into the apartment. Despite what she'd just observed, Tobin was pleased to see that Christen was so genuinely happy to be back.

"Talk about what?" Christen questioned as she inhaled the sheets. Tobin could tell she was playing dumb, and as cute as it was, Tobin was trying to be serious.

"Whatever that, you know, catatonic episode was back there."

"Oh, that? It was just an anxiety attack, it's not a big deal," Christen said with a dismissive wave of her hand, flopping back onto the bed. "They happen. That was just a big one. It's really not something to be concerned about, I'll just get back on my meds or something."

"Your... meds?" Tobin asked. "You've had to be medicated for this before? It sounds like kind of a big deal, Christen, if you've had to be on meds for it."

"I took meds for it when I was a kid," Christen said breezily, "A little bit of Valium. After college, I didn't really need it anymore. Tobin, seriously, anxiety attacks come and go, and you just have to take them in stride. I probably don't need meds again."

"Christen, you were totally and completely out of it for, like, 20 minutes. I wouldn't call that 'taking it in stride.'"

"I've had worse."

"But you've had better."

Christen stood up and faced Tobin, putting her hands on her shoulders. "Please, Tobs, I don't want you to get so worked up over this. I'm fine. We're both fine. I'm here. We're safe. It's all good. You can, I don't know... you can let this one go, okay?"

"'Let _this one_ go?' How am I supposed to do that when there's a promise of future... incidents? I can't in my right mind just drop it, Christen. Maybe you're fine with it, but I'm not. What if it happens when you're alone, or it's so bad that you don't snap out of it?"

"Well, I don't know, I—"

"I'm going to bring this up to Jill."

Christen took Tobin's face in her hands and looked her straight on. Her eyes were desperate. Tobin didn't want to argue with Christen, but she had to, for Christen's mental well-being. 

"Tobin, please, you cannot tell Jill. She'll kill me. You know she's far from my biggest fan in the first place. She'll say I'm making excuses. She might blacklist me for this."

"I have to. It's the responsible thing to do, and I can't just let you suffer."

"I'm a big girl, Tobin, I can handle this. I'll just get in touch with my psychiatrist again and restart the prescription. Please. Don't."

"If you restart your meds, you're going to have to tell Jill anyway. She keeps track of who's using what, remember?"

Christen bit down on her lip.

"I'm bringing this up to Jill," Tobin repeated, her tone going a little calmer, "and that's final."

"I..." Christen's voice dropped off as she failed to make an excuse. She threw her hands up in surrender. "Fine."

"Good." Tobin stood on her toes and gave Christen a kiss on the forehead before leaning in and whispering into her ear, "You know I'm just trying to keep you safe, Christen. Seeing you like that was so painful."

"Okay."

Tobin offered Christen a smile and Christen gave a weak one in return.

"Feels good to be home, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Christen spilled through a breath, "I waited so long to come back to you."


	14. And I Can Go Anywhere I Want (Anywhere I Want... Just Not Home)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title lyric is from Taylor Swift's brand new album off one of my favorite tracks: "my tears ricochet." Not the Jack Antonoff-produced project I wanted — I wanted Lorde's third album, of course — but hey, I won't complain about TS8.
> 
> You guys, I've finally figured out how I'm going to end this work, and you'll notice it'll end at 17 chapters (for Tobin's number, obviously). Most of OVEREXPOSED was improv, which is what took some of the chapters so long, but I figured it out, and it gets... interesting.
> 
> Anyway, here's chapter 14. Not much to say here, except you get to meet someone new.
> 
> Read on and enjoy yourselves :)

CHRISTEN COULD FEEL IT WAS LATE WHEN SHE FINALLY AWOKE. She _hated_ waking up late — she'd probably missed the time window for her first meditation session by now — but something about Tobin's bed was so irresistibly comfortable. Something about it made Christen want to lie there forever.

Until she realized Tobin wasn't there next to her.

She knew it was late if Tobin had woken up before her.

Christen heard Tobin's voice in the living room — what was she doing, calling someone? — and she smelled coffee. So Tobin was already awake _and_ she'd gone out on a coffee run. Christen felt helplessly behind.

She sat up to listen in on what Tobin was saying; Christen could tell it was about her.

"Bottom line, I'm serious, you need to do something about this." Pause. "No, she didn't tell me to say this, I—" Interrupted pause. "Because I'm a person with compassion and I can tell that she's really struggling with this." Pause. "Come on, Jill, no, don't turn this on her—"

_Jill._

Tobin was talking to Jill. About her.

Christen ran into the living room and jumped on Tobin to take the phone away from her. All Tobin could get out was a, "Hey, what—" before Christen frantically hung up the call.

"Tobin Heath, how could you do this to me?!" Christen yelled. "Especially after I told you not to!"

"Christen, angel, I'm sorry, really, but I-I couldn't just... ignore this. No one in their right mind would ignore something like this. What happened last night, I mean—"

"And I told you already," Christen insisted, "What happened last night wasn't a big deal! I told you that _so_ many times. Why can't you trust me when I tell you I can handle this?"

"When will you open your eyes and see that you don't have to suffer by yourself anymore? I'm in your corner, Christen. I'm fighting for you, I'm trying to do what's in your best interest. You're not alone anymore. You don't have to fight this battle by yourself."

To Christen's surprise, Tobin's voice broke as she said, "I'm just waiting for you to see that I'm here with you. Why do you always think you're alone?"

Christen didn't realize she was crying until she felt a teardrop fall down her cheek.

For the first time in a long time, someone else actually cared about how she was feeling.

"I'm sorry," Christen spilled, and as she wrapped Tobin in the tightest hug she could possibly give, the words escaped her in a weak whisper—

"I love you."

Tobin broke away, still holding onto Christen. "No, no," she said quietly, wiping the tears from Christen's eyes. "Come on, you don't mean that."

"Yes, I absolutely do."

"Really?" Tobin looked up with hope in her warm brown eyes, giving Christen a look that was so innocent and genuine that made Christen feel even more sure of her feelings.

"Yes," Christen breathed, her chin finding its way back to its position over Tobin's shoulder, "I love you, Tobin."

> _In celebrity news, we've got a developing story here, straight from an insider... the headline of this story:_ Press hates Press? _A source reports that Christen Press of the U.S. Women's National Soccer Team and half of power couple Preath isn't finding her newfound fame easy; allegedly, the surge of popularity has her quite overwhelmed._

IT DIDN'T TAKE EVEN TWO HOURS FOR THE STORY TO BREAK ON LIVE NEWS. It was apparent now; even though the devil might work hard, Jill Ellis worked harder. Tobin found it first and her stomach sank.

She didn't want to tell Christen. She knew she had to.

"Oh, jeez... fuck me," Christen muttered as she threw her phone aside. She held her head in her hands. 

Tobin flinched; Christen didn't swear often, and when she did, it meant she was really pissed. She only really ever swore on the field. But obviously, this was warranted too. 

This was all Tobin's fault; if she hadn't told Jill, this would've never happened. She felt so awful that things had turned on Christen liked this, and she rushed to apologize: "Christen, I'm so sorry, I didn't think that she'd—"

"No, I'm not mad at you." Christen's voice was firm.

"Oh. Okay." Tobin held in her sigh of relief. 

"I'm mad at Jill."

"Right."

"I want to get back at her so bad." Tobin watched Christen's fingers curl themselves into fists, which surprised her, because Christen was one of the least violent people she knew. "Jill deserves the absolute worst."

"You know what we should do," Tobin began, an idea suddenly popping in her head—

"We should lawyer up."

"What do you mean?" Christen asked, her hands unclenching. 

"Let's take Jill down."

"You mean...?"

"Oh, hell yeah."

They were both thinking the same thing now, and they said it out loud at the same time, too—

"The contracts."

This was the _perfect_ time to let the world know about just what was going on inside the USWNT. Tobin and Christen wanted the world to see just what kind of tricks Jill Ellis was pulling. They could finally exact their revenge on their horrible coach.

"So," Christen asked, "you suggested we 'lawyer up,' but do you know any lawyers?"

"Um..." Tobin tried to think of someone, but she came up empty. "No. I've got nothing. I can't have a family member represent me in this case, right? Was that a dumb question? Because my cousin is a lawyer."

"No, it wasn't a dumb question, and also, no, I don't think so," Christen said. "But I think I know someone."

"Who?"

"This guy I knew who lived down the hall from me in my freshman year at Stanford, he was on a pre-law track," Christen explained. "We were good friends until graduation, and then when I went pro, we kind of lost touch. I think I'm Facebook friends with him, though. I could try to get him."

"That would be awesome," Tobin agreed. "Wow, how do you connect the dots so fast?"

"It's because of a place called Stanford University, honey," Christen supplied without skipping a beat.

Tobin smiled to herself. Sassy Christen didn't come out often, but she was funny. Tobin couldn't believe Christen thought she had no sense of humor.

Christen scrolled through her phone for a minute to find him on Facebook and to conduct a further search on LinkedIn.

"Oh, yes, here it is, Paul Chiang. Yup, Stanford University, Class of 2010... and Yale Law, Class of 2013, which is great, he kept up with law stuff... and now he's a VP at a law firm in Seattle. In Seattle! That's not far from here!" Tobin could tell that Christen was already getting excited.

"Okay, well you should probably start talking to him again, because we're going to need his help. He seems like the perfect guy to help us."

A LITTLE LESS THAN A MONTH PASSED, AND BY THEN, PAUL AGREED TO HELP THEM. Christen was happy that she'd gotten back in touch with him — she'd forgotten how funny and nice he was — and he was so pleased to be of help to them that he drove down to Portland to visit their apartment.

"Paul!" Christen exclaimed as she opened up the door, "It's so nice of you to come here! I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Well, I don't quite know what you do for a living, but it seems you're on the road pretty often," Paul joked. "It's so nice to see you, Christen. I can't believe you really ended up with Tobin Heath. I remember how you used to idolize her in college."

Christen felt her face get hot, and Tobin just grinned. "Hi, Paul, it's nice to meet you. I guess you already have some idea of who I am."

"'Some idea?' Dude, she used to talk about you all the time."

"What? No, n-not... not all the time," Christen stammered defensively. This was probably doing awful things to Tobin's already-inflated ego.

"All right, should we get started? I hear you two have a very strange situation that I would _love_ to hear about. If anyone loves a good tabloid scandal, it's me."

"Yeah... 'strange' is one way to put it," Tobin began, allowing Christen to continue for her: "Yes. Oh, my God, yes. So, around this time last year, our coach approached Tobin and I with these contracts."

Christen handed copies of the two identical contracts they'd signed over to Paul. They let him look through the papers for a minute and digest the "strange" request Jill had made of them.

"I... wow. Excuse my language, but this is so... this is so genuinely fucked up. Jesus Christ, she locked you two in a three-year fake dating contract?! How is this possible? Why did you two agree to this? It's clear that there's no money involved here."

"Well, not directly," Christen filled in. "Long story short, our team, the national team, is broke. We were apparently going to get cut by the end of the calendar year, 2016. And— wait, you've heard of Krashlyn, right?"

"Um, of course, who hasn't?"

"Right."

"Are they fake, too?" Paul asked. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips as he said, "Oh, my God, please don't tell me they're fake. If they're fake, love doesn't exist."

"No," Tobin said quickly, "They're 100% real, nothing to worry about."

"Thank God. I can breathe again."

"Anyway, the sales team or whatever found out that the only things that were selling were Ali Krieger and Ashlyn Harris merch, because everyone loves Krashlyn. So then Jill decided to make Preath to get some more money," Christen told him.

"That's all she cares about, really," Tobin complained. "Money."

"Absolutely," Christen said. "She's a very cold-hearted woman. Some of us call her evil."

"It's me," Tobin interjected, "I'm 'some of us.' Because she is. She's really evil."

"I have to say," Paul said, looking through the contracts again, "this contract is the single most interesting thing I've come across in my entire career thus far. And I work in contract law, so contracts are all I do. This is... wow, this is _so_ juicy."

"So, Paul, would you work our case for us? Cardinal to cardinal?" Christen asked cautiously.

"I would be delighted to, Chris," Paul replied through a smile. "This is totally crazy, and I am just _loving_ it. And if you guys thought I was interested in this, wait until my fiancé hears about it, he will be all over this."

 _'He,'_ Christen processed. She'd forgotten than Paul had come out to her.

"Oh, you're gay, too?" Tobin asked bluntly.

"Uh, I mean, as much as my relatives would like me to not be, unfortunately for them, I am. Oh well. I can't _always_ be the perfect Asian son," Paul laughed. "I think that Stanford undergrad and Yale Law should satisfy them."

"Um, Paul, I have a question for you," Tobin began.

"Ask away."

"Is it going to be a problem if Christen and I are... okay, so here's the thing, at first, it was, like, _completely_ platonic, but after a while—"

"Oh, no. Don't tell me you guys are actually dating."

An empty silence fell over the three of them. What did that mean for Christen and Tobin? Was it bad that they were together?

"Um, yeah, we are. Is that... is it gonna be a problem?" Tobin finished, her words slowing down. "That was my question."

"Well," Paul started through a heavy sigh, "I really, really hate to say this, ladies, because you two are such a hot couple... but, in short, yes."

Christen's face fell and her stomach dropped.

She couldn't end it with Tobin. Not after she'd said "I love you" to her.

"Here's why. You guys are so popular, and this case is going to become so public, so fast. And the media is an echo chamber; little details get lost. People only hear what they want to hear. It's going to be confusing to the public why you two are looking to break this contract if you're actually together. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"I... yes. We... we understand," Christen said quietly. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Paul asked. "I don't want you two to have to break up, and I'm sure you guys don't want to do that either."

"Is it possible for you to give us some time to think about this? Like, a week or so?" Tobin requested.

"Sure. Call me when you come to a decision. Either way, I support you two."

"Thank you so much for this, Paul," Christen said. "I had no idea who else to contact about this but you."

"Believe me, I'm glad you did, because you never come to reunions, so I never get to see you," Paul said, returning to his joking self. "I'm sorry to leave so soon, but I know that Adam is cooking tonight, and he won't be happy if I'm late because I decided to take a spontaneous drive to Portland on a workday."

Tobin and Christen said their goodbyes and Paul left, taking the contracts with him to do some "further analysis," as he'd said. It seemed legit.

But after Christen locked the door behind him, she and Tobin were quiet.

They didn't want to have to talk about what this meant for them and their future; they wanted a future together, but now, it seemed impossible.

In the beginning, they'd agreed to expose Jill.

But in such a short amount of time, Tobin had become everything to Christen. Her rock, her happiness... Tobin had become her home. If they went through with this, she'd lose it all.

Christen wasn't sure if a week was enough time to make a choice.


	15. Baby, Let Me Love You Goodbye (Because If This Is It, Then at Least We Could End It Right)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric is from One Direction's "Love You Goodbye," one of my favorite songs from MITAM. We have my king Louis Tomlinson to thank for this song.
> 
> (And yes, I was disappointed by the 10th reunion "festivities," but wbk Directioners are huge clowns. Sigh.)
> 
> By the way, just for the timeline's sake, it's late November 2017. Just didn't want to have you all confused.
> 
> I don't want to give away much about this chapter, but you can gather what you will from the title... anyway, please, I invite you to read it, I don't want to keep you.

FOUR DAYS HAD GONE BY — MORE THAN HALF OF THEIR TIMEFRAME — AND THEY HAD YET TO REACH A DECISION. After Paul left, they practically hadn't said one word about Jill or the contracts. Ignorance was bliss for the two of them. They went about their lives pretending that their conversation with him never happened.

And Christen was fine with that, for the most part. One of the things she hated the most was being an inconvenience, and she felt that bringing this up to Paul was not only bothering him but also the balance of the USWNT. If Tobin and Christen revealed this, the organization would probably go up in flames.

But there was a significant part of her that wanted to cut Jill out of the picture. If their contracts were leaked, Christen would forever have the upper hand over Jill, because the public eye would be on her 24/7. Jill would probably get fired for it, actually.

Eventually, Christen decided that if Tobin wasn't bringing it up, she wouldn't either, and they could leave it all alone.

That tactic worked up until Tobin brought it up, of course.

"We need to make our decision," Tobin said one night after dinner. 

"About what?" Christen asked, playing dumb. One of her pet peeves was watching other people, particularly women, play dumb, so she felt like a hypocrite as soon as the words left her mouth.

"You _know_ , Christen," Tobin replied, her eyes narrowing. "Whether we should do it or not. In my opinion, it's up to you, since you're the one who Jill keeps coming for. I understand it's a lot of pressure for you, and we both know you can be indecisive sometimes, but please, you need to make a move. So _we_ can make a move."

"I..." Christen began, trying to conjure a feasible argument. She was coming up empty, and she gave up. "I know."

"Just know that whatever you decide, I'm behind you, 100%. Even if you choose to go forward with this."

"What? Really? Tobin, you can't be serious."

"I am, angel," Tobin said through a smile. "And here's why. We can stay together in secret, you know. Obviously, going public isn't an option for us anymore, but we don't need those stupid photoshoots or magazine articles to, you know, validate our relationship. We know how we feel about each other."

Christen chewed on the inside of her cheek, fighting back a grin. Tobin always said that she wasn't one with words, but why could she be so goddamn smooth sometimes?

"Do you really think that would work? I have a feeling it'll be really, really hard."

"I don't know, I just kind of think of the paps like they're super pushy defenders. You know, they're all up in your face, trying to distract you, but they're all talk. You and I could get through them," Tobin said as she leaned forward, the words easily coming out of her mouth.

In a quieter voice, she added, "And I thought you always liked a good challenge, Christen Press."

They'd been dating for months yet Tobin could still make her blush.

Christen bit down on her bottom lip.

"Would you stop making that face?" Tobin pleaded.

"Why?"

"Because it makes me want to kiss you."

And with that, Tobin lunged into Christen, her hands delicately cradling Christen's jaw, their lips meeting so eagerly it felt as though they hadn't kissed for years.

It was stuff like this that made Christen not want to come forward. _This_ was what she'd be missing out on. Tobin. Her face, her lips, her body. Her smile, her laugh, her voice. Everything. Christen didn't want to risk it only to have to let Tobin go.

Christen could hardly remember what life was like before Tobin.

She didn't want to picture what it might look like after.

TOBIN DIDN'T QUITE KNOW WHAT TO DO IN THIS SITUATION. She was sure that she and Christen had the strength to stay together throughout all of this, but she still wasn't sure if exposing Jill now was the right choice.

She thought it was, but she wasn't sure of herself, which was strange, because Tobin was usually very sure of herself and her feelings.

Which was throwing her off. 

They were now two days from the deadline, and Christen still hadn't made up her mind, and Tobin thought it'd be best not to force it.

But she did want some clarity.

So, as Christen fell asleep around 10pm like always, Tobin went through and searched the laundry for Paul's business card. It had to be in one of her pockets somewhere. What had she been wearing when they met him?

Finally, she found it, and she crossed her fingers as she stepped into the living room to call him. To her surprise, he picked up on the second ring: "This is Paul Chiang."

"Hi, Paul, it's Tobin," she said, feeling awkward about having made the call. She didn't even know what she should say. 

"Hey! What's up? Have you guys reached a decision?"

"Um, no, not yet," Tobin replied, her voice a little slow and nervous. "Which is why I'm calling you."

"Is Christen there?"

"Hah, no, she's, um... she's asleep already."

"I guess she's still an early bird, huh? I remember that from way back in the day."

"Yeah."

"So what did you want to talk to me about, Tobin? Did you have any questions?"

"I... I think I do. Maybe. I just... I'm not sure how this procedure's going to play out. Can you review the options for me really quick? Please?"

"Oh, for sure," Paul replied on the other end of the line. Tobin heard shuffling of papers and then Paul spoke again: "Here's what we have. You have a few possible paths."

"Oh, really? Okay."

"Yep. So, your first option is this: you drop this entire thing, we act like we never spoke about it, and I promise I won't bring it to light with the media. Honestly, I'd say it's the easy way out. Nothing is accomplished with this one, but you and Christen are still safe."

"I see." Tobin's voice was distant; she was mulling this over, but Paul continued.

"Now here's option two: we quietly settle this with Jill and the team's executives. It'd end up as some sort of compromise that I'd assume wouldn't be in your favor, and I can't guarantee you'd be able to stay with Christen this way, because they might just choose to terminate it. Although it's messy, it gets the job done, but it's likely nothing happens to Jill."

"No." Tobin was firm all of a sudden.

"'No'... 'no' what?"

"We got into this because we want something to happen to Jill," Tobin explained. "I mean, I wasn't planning on going into detail like this with our lawyer, but since you're Christen's friend, I gotta tell you... Jill is awful to Christen. Just flat-out nasty. She treats Christen like garbage."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, unfortunately. She's a huge bully, and she's just in it for the money, which is ironic, because we're constantly broke."

"I'll say. What organization exploits their members and uses them as cash cows? I know that the USWNT is some kind of bubble, but I feel like you guys have no idea how messed up this situation is," Paul said. "Not even from a law point of view, but from a human point of view."

"But do we have any other options? Something that will get Jill into some hot water?" Tobin asked.

"Yes, but it's the hardest route," Paul prefaced. "Option three goes like this: we get the media involved. With the worlds' eyes on Jill Ellis, drastic measures will be taken, no doubt. She'd be terminated at least, and probably fined, too. Maybe even more. Depends on the judge."

"That sounds great!" Tobin exclaimed, minding her volume.

"It might, but look at it this way. If the media is focusing in on Jill, Jill is going to try to deflect the heat onto you two. There's a 0% chance you guys can stay together. Maybe you could revisit this in a few years, but for now, it'd ruin your case entirely. I'd bet money on it."

Tobin was silent. She dropped onto the couch and tried to think through it, squinting her eyes as she did so. 

She needed Christen in on this, too. Christen was the brains. She'd know what to do.

But when she opened her eyes again, she saw Christen's head peeking around the corner.

How much had Christen heard?

"Hi."

"Who are you talking to?"

"Um... Paul."

"Is Christen there?" Paul asked. "Let's invite her into the conversation, see what she has to say about this."

"Hey, Paul, I'm going to put you on speaker," Christen said, her voice a little drowsy, taking the phone from Tobin's hand. She turned to Tobin and said, "What are you two up to? Scheming and plotting without me?"

"Something like that," Paul responded through a laugh. "But seriously, Tobin and I were just going over your choices."

"Oh, awesome. I couldn't really fall asleep. It was keeping me up."

"Why don't you go over them again, Paul?" Tobin encouraged.

Paul agreed, and he briefly reviewed them for Christen, who put her finger on her nose like she always did when she was in deliberation. 

"Do you mind if I give you guys some input?" Paul asked.

"No, not at all."

"I think," Paul began tentatively, "I think you guys should just go with number three. If not for just you two, to help the rest of your teammates out. Jill Ellis sounds like the devil. I don't want to see you two break up, but you'd practically be martyrs for this. No one's gonna give Jill the boot unless you guys step forward."

Again, Tobin and Christen didn't quite know what to say to this. _I guess there's a reason this guy went to Stanford and Yale_ , Tobin thought to herself, _he's probably the smartest guy I ever met._

Paul always made so much sense; how had he become so good at putting things into perspective having such little background information on the team?

"Well, we're going to think about it," Christen said. "Thank you for telling us our options."

"Of course, take your time. Call me whenever you're ready."

And just like when Paul left their apartment, when he hung up the phone, Tobin and Christen fell quiet.

But then it dawned on Tobin.

"You know what, Christen?" Tobin said after a while.

"What?"

"I think we should do it."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she replied, nodding. "Do you remember what you told me when we were first signing those contracts?"

"No," Christen laughed, "what'd I tell you?"

"You told me, and I quote," Tobin said, "'think about it this way, we could totally expose Jill for this contract when this is over.' That's what you told me. Of course, that was before there were strings attached, and the contract is far from over, but—"

"You're right. I shouldn't go back on my word."

"So... we're gonna do it?"

"Yeah," Christen said through the smile that Tobin had come to fall in love with over this past year.

"Let's do it."

IT TOOK JUST OVER A WEEK TO GATHER THE INFORMATION AND ROUND UP THE MEDIA. Christen and Tobin had just spent an intimate, relaxed Thanksgiving together, probably the last holiday they'd be able to celebrate in each other's company, if not for forever than for a few years at least.

It was just about 7pm, when all the news channels would break the story.

And Christen decided that she'd give Jill a call. Just to let her know that her coaching career was about to make an irreversible turn for the worse. And to gloat, a little bit. It wasn't like Christen to do this, but she didn't often get the chance to, so she took it.

"Hi, Jill," Christen said breezily, Tobin sitting next to her on the couch, their TV already tuned in to CNN, "it's Christen."

"Hey, Christen, what's up? I know you're in Portland; you with Heath? You should be. That's what you all agreed to in the contract," Jill laughed. 

"About that," Christen cut in, "go turn on the news. Any channel."

"Why?"

"Oh, Jill, now really isn't a good time for you to talk. You're wasting your own time by talking." Christen felt like a supervillain, spouting all this vague nonsense, but she was loving it. She didn't know if she'd ever find an opportunity to toy with Jill like this again.

"Christen, what the hell does that even mean?"

"Did you get to a news channel?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on MSNBC. What's this all about?"

"Now, don't interrupt me. In—" Christen looked at her watch. It was nearly go-time. "In around 90 seconds, every major national news channel is going to break the story about our contracts. Tomorrow morning's sports news all over the country will be filled with the accounts of what you've done to Tobin and myself."

Jill was quiet on the other end of the line. Christen was worried she'd hung up, but she kept going regardless.

"You can't call anyone to prevent this from going out. It's getting aired, I promise you. I just wanted to let you in on it, even if I am a bit late in telling you so."

"Christen Press," Jill growled, "you're a grade-A bitch if I ever saw one."

"Thank you," Christen replied in a lilting voice. "Now go on, call that legal team you've got on retainer. You're gonna need them."

On the TV, Christen saw Don Lemon in the frame next to a picture of Tobin and herself and the words "BREAKING NEWS" on the ticker.

It was actually happening.

"Get ready, Jill Ellis," Christen murmured. "And good luck. You're gonna need it if you want to make it out of this mess you've created."

Before Jill could get a response in, Christen hung up the phone, and as she did, she felt the world's biggest weight being lifted from her shoulders.

It was the end.

The beginning of the end.


	16. I'd Rather Be Spitting Blood Than Have This Silence Fuck Me up (Just Tell Me, Say Anything...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from another Blue Neighbourhood favorite, "THE QUIET." Why do I love Troye Sivan so much. Anyway stream Rager teenager! for clear skin. 
> 
> I deeply apologize for the wait on this chapter, it was unintentional I just got distracted by lots of things going on in the world. I won't give too much away but spoiler, Christen is on top this time.
> 
> Read more to find out :)

THE MEDIA HAD BECOME A FULL-BLOWN STORM BY THE END OF THE NIGHT. Tobin and Christen were trending on every platform imaginable: Twitter, Google, and Facebook alike. Somehow the fakeness of their relationship had become the scandal of the century.

Maybe that was a little dramatic, but that's what it felt like to Christen. Her phone had been ringing for hours on end now, and she'd racked up nearly a hundred missed calls from Jill, current and former teammates, her family members, and many, many reporters.

"Are you alright?" Tobin asked. Christen hadn't realized she'd been zoned out for a few minutes now, staring blankly at the sink with dishes in her hands, the water running.

"Hm?"

"You're looking a little lost there," Tobin pointed out. "Everything okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah, of course," Christen said quickly, laughing it off. She showed Tobin she was okay by continuing to wash the dishes, now with a broad grin to reassure her. 

It was annoying that as hard as Christen tried to not let the media get to her, it always did, and it was noticeable.

"Do you regret that we did it?"

Christen shook her head. "Absolutely not. It needed to happen. And, you know, I try my best not to have regrets about anything."

"Same," Tobin sighed, and she smiled as she said, "except I still wish I got four national championships instead of just the three."

She made eye contact with Christen across the counter.

Tobin knew what she was doing.

"Shut it, Heath, unless you wanna talk Hermann trophies. I'm sorry, did you misplace yours? In Kelley O'Hara's house?"

Christen lived for this. She and Tobin spoke each other's language: football. Christen couldn't see herself with anyone else having this much fun and such a deep understanding of anyone else in the world.

Tobin and Christen just felt _right_. If soulmates were a real thing, they were each other's without a shadow of a doubt.

Neither of them knew how to continue with the relationship if they weren't really allowed to be seen together anymore. Paul was right; if Tobin and Christen were trying to fight against Jill for forcing them to be together and they were actually together in real life, it would appear counterintuitive.

Christen just hadn't thought about how bad this consequence might be.

Paul advised Christen to leave Tobin's apartment early the next morning to avoid paparazzi and suspicion. Her things were all packed and there was hardly a trace of Christen left in their home.

Their home.

It wasn't a "they" situation anymore; it would go back to just being Tobin Heath's Portland apartment.

And it would no longer feel like a home.

> _U.S. Women's National Team Head Coach Jill Ellis is set to appear in court in January or February, insiders say... the news of her illegal agreement with two of team's players broke late last month, which stated that forward Christen Press and midfielder Tobin Heath were allegedly coerced into entering a three-year quote, "fake dating contract," unquote, in order to boost merch sales, sponsorship, brand deals, and advertisement opportunities._

THIS PAST MONTH HAD BEEN HELL FOR CHRISTEN. She could hardly believe she thought the paps were so bad when the contract was still a secret. They were far worse now.

Everywhere Christen went, whether it was to a grocery store or practice or the airport, she had to be more disguised, wearing sunglasses and baseball caps and the like.

It felt like rock bottom, but Christen thought that making such a claim might be presumptuous; she had no idea what could be around the corner for her.

Paul was working overtime, not only on their case, but acting as the glue of their relationship. They were still together, but Paul was strict about communication between them: no calls or texts or anything, it could be used as evidence in court. So anything they wanted to say to each other had to be relayed by Paul.

Which was awkward. Christen missed the goofy flirty texts that Tobin used to send her sometimes, things like, "I need you so bad right now," or, "When you get home remind me to kiss you all over the way you like it." Christen couldn't say those types of things to Paul to say to Tobin.

Christen was sure that being kept away from Tobin was making her want Tobin more.

She'd been having those dreams about Tobin again — the same type of dreams she'd used to have before she and Tobin were together — and due to Tobin's absence, Christen even began playing with herself for the first time.

Somehow, moaning Tobin's name while Christen was getting off by herself just wasn't the same, but she had to make do.

This sacrifice was far more serious than Christen would've ever expected, but she didn't even know she loved Tobin as much as she did.

The few messages she and Tobin had sent to each other via Paul were bland and of relative unimportance.

Today was Christen's birthday, her 29th, and Tobin had yet to give a message. She hoped Tobin hadn't forgotten. Christen had told her "Merry Christmas!" just days earlier, knowing well that Christmas was Tobin's favorite holiday.

Christen really hoped that it was a "distance makes the heart grow fonder" kind of thing and not an "out of sight, out of mind" situation.

She hoped Tobin still felt the same way about her.

Quite honestly, she couldn't be sure anymore.

AMID HER RECENT HAZE, JANUARY 23rd FELL UPON TOBIN. It was the night before the trial. Paul had set up a conference call between the two of them and Christen to go through what they were supposed to do. Since the USWNT headquarters were in Chicago, Tobin had flown in from Portland earlier that morning.

Their call had been at 3:00pm, and as soon as Tobin heard Christen's voice over the phone, she melted. She'd been missing Christen bad, so badly that she'd lost sleep over it, fallen out of her routine, and felt flat-out dazed for months now.

Tobin wondered if Christen missed her like that, so intensely that some days it was all she could think about. Probably not. Christen was better at compartmentalizing. But Tobin decided that a girl could dream.

Paul had informed each of them a few weeks earlier that Kelley and Becky had become witnesses to this case, so they would be there too and they'd have to go to the stand. Both Tobin and Christen would each have to go to the stand as well, but Paul said that he'd do the talking for the most part.

Tobin was nervous to speak in front of the court. Paul told them that the media would most likely be there in the room, and Tobin was by no means a public speaker.

"You'll be fine," Paul reassured them, "as long as you tell the truth."

The truth.

What Tobin would have to say to the judge and the court and the lawyers and the press was far from the truth. Having a secret relationship had become more bothersome than Tobin would've thought it to be. She and Christen hardly talked — a function of their situation, of course — and she wasn't quite sure where the two of them stood.

She didn't know how she'd react tomorrow seeing Christen in that courtroom.

Tobin was worried that she might have palpitations. She just knew Christen was going to look like she was an actress on TV starring in some soapy legal drama. Like Kerry Washington in "Scandal" or something.

Her visions of Christen fizzled away with an unexpected knock at the door.

Tobin hadn't remembered ordering room service, but she went to open it anyway.

And it was her.

Tobin saw that face, the one she hadn't seen in person for months, the woman she'd Google every now and then just to get a glimpse at... and immediately, she was reminded of the love hadn't quite gone away.

Christen Press was standing at her door.

"Hi," Christen said through a breath. "Don't worry, Paul said it was okay for me to see you. But I had to dress up in this." Tobin just then noticed that Christen was wearing a dark outfit, a black baseball cap and had a pair of sunglasses in her hand.

"And I couldn't take the elevator in good conscience since I was still worried about running into paps, so I just ran up those 14 flights of stairs, because—"

Tobin couldn't stand there anymore and watch Christen talk her mouth off; she needed it to kiss her.

So she did.

Christen gasped as Tobin grabbed her by the collar and pulled her inside, the door closing behind them, and finally, when their lips came together after their dry spell of nearly two months, and it felt more right at that moment than it ever had before.

In one movement, Tobin pushed the baseball cap off of Christen's head and ran her fingers through her hair.

"I missed you so bad," Christen breathed, and Tobin realized that Christen might've been finishing her sentence from earlier.

"Now that you're here," Tobin spilled in between deep kisses, "I don't know how I survived all that time without you. It's... crazy. I can't believe I haven't seen you in so long."

Christen broke away with a soft smile, "You have no idea how glad I am to know that you were feeling the same way."

"Uh, do you wanna, I-I don't know, you wanna talk? Catch up?" Tobin offered. "Get something to eat, maybe?" Now that she'd thought about room service, she thought she could really use some.

"Nope," Christen replied, pushing hair out of her face before narrowing her eyes and continuing matter-of-factly—

"I think it'd be best if we got right to the fucking, how about you?"

Tobin nearly choked on her own breath. Christen was never this forward or... vulgar. It was hot. And Tobin was liking it. Perhaps too much for her own good. Just what did Christen have planned for them tonight?

"Yes," Tobin responded, taken aback, grasping for words. "Um, yes. I would really like that. Very much."

"Good," Christen said firmly, her hand making its way to the side of Tobin's face. "Because frankly, you wouldn't have wanted to hear what I would've said if you told me 'no.'"

Who was this devil that had replaced Tobin's angel?

All of a sudden Tobin was being dragged by the wrist into the bedroom and pushed onto the mattress, each of Christen's knees on the outside of Tobin's thighs. Christen was _straddling_ her.

Tobin's mouth had gone dry and her mind blank. They were still wearing their clothes, but with the way Christen was eyeing her down, it didn't feel like it anymore.

Christen was really going to take the lead tonight.

Her weight settled in Tobin's lap and their kissing continued, more desperately now if anything, drawing back every so often only to remove more clothing from each other.

It was really happening, what Tobin had been yearning for for months. Finally. She'd never found foreplay to be so rewarding until now. And it definitely hadn't been this hot.

"Talk to me. Now." The words escaped Tobin's mouth in a strained voice before she'd had a chance to filter them. She was almost sickened by her own desire for dirty talk, but Christen was so good at it, and her voice was so pretty in Tobin's ears.

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Christen replied quickly.

Tobin nodded sheepishly.

Seeing Christen in person made her think about how much she felt like she _needed_ her.

"What I'm about to do to you is not a big deal," Christen informed casually, but then her voice went dark: "I'm just going to make you scream my name. Now go on and lie on your back."

Tobin dared to regain eye contact with Christen, and through a smile, she simply said—

"Make me."

THE COURTROOM THE NEXT MORNING WAS BEYOND TENSE. Christen had arrived last night around 8pm and she didn't leave until after midnight, and the two of them had been busy nearly the whole time. Christen had gotten better. She knew she had, gauging from Tobin's response.

No announcer could give Christen the same excitement in hearing her own name like Tobin Heath could.

Paul was right about the reporters; there were plenty, and they filled whatever space there was left in the room. In the front rows of the visitors benches sat the majority of the team: Alex, Kelley, Becky, Ashlyn and Ali, the kids — Mal, Sonnett, Mewis, Lindsey, and Rose — and even Carli. It was a full house. Christen was pleased to see the support.

Jill was at her bench, the defendant's bench, with some lawyers who looked vaguely familiar; they were definitely on the USWNT legal team. The judge wasn't there yet, but Paul said that the judge showed up only after the court was called to order.

Heads turned and voices hushed as Tobin walked through the doors to the courtroom.

She was in a suit with her hair in a low bun and... earrings? Christen was shocked and definitely impressed.

Tobin was still wearing sneakers, though, no surprise there.

"Hey, stranger," Tobin said breezily as she sat down next to Christen. She adjusted her jacket before she asked quietly, "How was your night last night?"

"Wonderful," Christen replied in a similar hushed tone. "And yours?"

"Oh, it was fantastic."

"Glad we're on the same page."

"Always, angel." Christen looked up at Tobin who gave her a wink, the same wink as the one from so many months ago when they signed these contracts from hell.

They couldn't hold hands — that was simply too conspicuous — but their knees touched under the plaintiff's table, and Christen took a deep breath as she heard someone (the bailiff, she later found out) demand order in the court, and the court fell silent. Paul told them to stand up just like everyone else in the room.

The judge — "the Honorable Judge Alan M. Torres," as the bailiff called him — walked in and sat down at his bench. Christen was feeling nervous, more nervous than she'd ever been. She wouldn't even get this worked up over a big game.

It was all happening now.

This was really happening.

Finally, Jill would get her punishment that Christen and Tobin and the whole team had been waiting for.

Suddenly, the silence wasn't so scary anymore. This was good silence, Christen decided.

Today was going to be good. She could feel it.


	17. In Another Life, I Would Make You Stay (So I Don't Have to Say You Were the One That Got Away)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lyric is a Katy Perry classic, "The One That Got Away." This song is definitely a song I'd call a 10/10. The tears I have shed to this song? Innumerable. This music video? A masterpiece.
> 
> Draw what you will from the title... and try not to hate me too much.
> 
> (Also, side note: I know my legal jargon isn't perfect. I am not a lawyer or even studying law, this was just for fun. I'd like it if you all didn't attack me for any mistakes I might've made in here.)
> 
> For the last time, I encourage you, let's get into the reading now, shall we?

"PROSECUTION, YOU MAY CALL YOUR FIRST WITNESS TO THE STAND." Christen hadn't even realized that her leg had been shaking under the table up until that point. She was nervous. Kelley could be a wild card sometimes. Hopefully she wouldn't mess this up. But Christen knew in her heart that Kelley had this.

"Thank you, Your Honor. I call to the stand Kelley O'Hara," Paul informed. His voice was smooth and almost nonchalant. Christen was glad that Paul was confident. She certainly wasn't.

After being sworn in by the bailiff, Christen watched as Kelley's hands rested themselves on the witness stand. Was she nervous? In all her years of knowing her, Christen could never tell. _Okay, Kelley,_ Christen said to herself. _You can do this_.

But then Christen watched Kelley hold back a smirk as one of the USWNT lawyers approached her, and she wasn't so sure.

"How would you describe your relationship to the plaintiffs?"

"I have been national level teammates with Tobin Heath since 2010, and I was teammates with Christen Press throughout my latter three years of college and on the national team since she joined in 2013. I would say I've been very close friends with both of them for several years now," Kelley replied, her tone as even as ever.

"How did you find out about the agreement between the plaintiffs and Coach Ellis?"

"My teammate Becky Sauerbrunn and I, we sort of... 'pieced it together,' I'd say," Kelley explained. She took a deep breath and went on—

"In spite of my friendships with both of the plaintiffs, the two of them were not very close at all until their relationship was announced to us. It felt suspicious to me, and I talked to Becky about it, and she agreed. To reiterate, for the record — be sure to write this part down, ma'am — neither Christen Press nor Tobin Heath told any of us about the agreement."

The court reporter typed just as Kelley had asked her to.

"Who is 'any of us,' Ms. O'Hara? Could you clarify?" Christen didn't know why the legal team was asking stupid questions now.

"Tobin and Christen never told the team squat," Kelley said flatly. "Throughout the rest of the agreement, no one else on the team ever found out that it was a contract thing."

"Did you or Ms. Sauerbrunn confront the plaintiffs about the relationship? How 'suspicious' you apparently thought it was?"

"Yes," Kelley answered. "I did. Maybe around a month or so after the news broke, I spoke directly with Christen about it, and she told me the truth, how it was, you know, fake and all."

"Prosecution," the USWNT lawyer said, turning to Paul, "you must have seen that in the contract there is a very specific non-disclosure clause in the second page. Wouldn't you consider this — your client telling Ms. O'Hara of the agreement, that is — to be a breach of contract?"

Christen held her breath. By no means was she legal-savvy, but "breach of contract" didn't sound good.

She didn't like how this had turned on her and Tobin.

"I would," Paul responded, "ordinarily. If this were any normal contract, then yes, Ms. Press was in the wrong. _However_ , due to the circumstances under which this quote unquote, 'contract,' was signed, it should be considered null and void, and not even a contract at all."

She kept a smile to herself.

Christen almost jumped as Tobin's fingers had found their way onto Christen's thigh, but she kept it together.

"I mean, taking the entire situation into account, I would say that there's some duress, undue influence, and unconscionability here," Paul announced. "Any of which would make a contract void or voidable."

The other lawyer didn't even bother to hide a scoff.

Paul kept going. "If you'd allow me to explain, Your Honor."

"Objection, Your Honor," exclaimed the defense attorney, who straightened his tie as he went on, "a detailed explanation of reasoning would be overtly advantageous to the prosecution."

"Overruled," replied the judge. "From the witness's statement thus far, there is clearly a basis for these claims. Prosecutor, continue."

"Thank you, Your Honor." Christen had no clue what was going on, she was just letting it happen around her. Was this good? Was it bad? Was Kelley even saying the right stuff?

Only the feeling of Tobin's hand on her leg could keep her calm.

AFTER THE COURT HAD A SHORT RECESS, THE VERDICT WAS IN. Christen held her breath as the judge read off the decision.

"Jill Ellis has been found guilty of duress, unconscionability, and undue influence within this contract. Her sentence is as follows: Jill Ellis will be terminated from her post as the head coach of the U.S. Women's National Soccer Team, effective immediately, and she is barred from any further involvement with the organization."

"Given the financial situation which was the cause of the creation of the contract," the judge continued, "the court has decided to omit monetary compensation, but instead, she will be under probation for the next nine months and will complete 50 hours of community service."

Christen exhaled.

"At this time, the government rests. The court is adjourned."

Tobin turned to her and gave her the signature smile, the one that Christen had come to fall in love with over the course of this screwed-up agreement. The smile that she'd have to leave behind. Christen tried to push away the thoughts of leaving Tobin.

Because right now, in this moment, Christen was free.

She was free.

Once they stepped out of the courtroom, Tobin and Christen — and Paul, too — were instantly bombarded by a huge crowd of press, but this time, it didn't feel so sickening. It was manageable. The situation was not ideal for Christen's anxiety, but she could live with this.

"Christen, tell us, how do you feel about the verdict?"

"Do you have any idea what's next for you or Tobin Heath?"

"Would you mind giving us a comment?"

Christen blissfully ignored all the questions and inquiries, doing her best not to physically push the reporters away from her body as she made her way through lobby of the courthouse.

And when she eventually got outside, for some odd reason, the air felt fresher, and for a late January day in Chicago, the sky was shockingly blue. The cold wasn't as bitter as it had been when she entered, and the sun shining on her face made the weather almost pleasant, despite it being close to zero degrees.

Today was a beautiful day. January 24th, the day the USWNT finally cut Jill Ellis out of the picture, now and forever. Today would definitely be an important addition to the team's history. It was almost as glorious as a World Cup win.

"Hey, Chris," Paul said, jogging to catch up to her, "I'm leaving for Seattle, like, way early tomorrow morning. Do you want to have dinner tonight, for old times' sake?" He smiled as he said, "I mean, you can't honestly tell me that you're going to show up to a reunion one of these days, so I don't know when we'll see each other again."

Christen resisted punching her old friend in the arm. "You know what? That sounds amazing. I have a great place in mind."

"Awesome. See you tonight, then. I'm going to catch a cab."

"Good luck with that."

Christen watched ruefully as Paul sank into a canary yellow sedan and speed away. Paul was right; she didn't know when she'd see him again. She never went to reunions, because she was usually busy, and if she wasn't, she simply didn't want to go.

"Hey, you," someone called from behind Christen.

It didn't phase her until the voice continued, "I'm talking to you. The one with the really long legs and the picture-perfect smile and those gorgeous green eyes—"

It was Tobin.

Christen stopped in her tracks.

She heard Tobin running up behind her and felt her arms crash into her body, wrapping Christen up in a hug from behind. She liked it when Tobin was cute like this; she was in rare form. It seemed that she was incredibly pleased with the verdict as well.

"I'm surprised you can run right after last night," Christen murmured teasingly in Tobin's ear, who shoved her away.

"Oh, come on, Chris, don't flatter yourself, you're not _that_ good."

"Well, I don't know, I'm pretty sure you thought differently last night," Christen pointed out through a grin.

"You don't know what you're talking about. Just you wait, Christen Press. You have no idea what I have in store for you tonight."

Christen chewed on the inside of her cheek before she told Tobin, "I can't make tonight."

"Hm? Why not?"

"Paul's leaving tomorrow morning, and he asked me to dinner. I'm really sorry, I couldn't say no after what he's just done for us."

"Oh." The excitement and playfulness left Tobin's voice. Christen felt awful as she saw Tobin's face fall. "Hey, it's okay. Next time."

"Next time," Christen agreed, even though neither of them knew when that would be.

CHRISTEN MET WITH PAUL THAT NIGHT AT A CASUAL ITALIAN RESTAURANT SHE WOULD FREQUENT. There were plenty of them in Chicago, but this one had become her favorite. She had quite a few memories here with the Red Stars: getting drunk with them after a win, having lunch with the team after their first practice of the day.

"Christen! Over here!" She was drawn to his voice calling her from across the dining room.

"I have to tell you," Paul said as she sat down at the table, "you were absolutely fantastic today. I could hardly believe that this was your first court experience."

"Oh, that's really nice of you, but you did all the work here." Even in spite of her many years playing soccer at the highest international level, Christen Press was still bad at taking compliments.

"Nonsense. You were the whistleblower. This would've never happened if you didn't call me up first."

"Well... I guess you're right about that."

"I'm always right. I'm a lawyer. I find a way to be right at all times," Paul replied.

"Very true," Christen laughed.

"I have to be honest with you, C," Paul began, calling her by her old college nickname, "I didn't ask you to have dinner with me tonight just for old times' sake. There's... there's another reason, too." He reached behind his chair and brought out his briefcase that Christen didn't know he had with him.

"Um, okay. What's the other reason?"

"I-I didn't want to have to do this so soon, but... look at the situation you're in. You don't have a head coach anymore, so your main source of income is totally up in the air. You split up from your fake girlfriend, at least publicly. And I told you two when we started this entire process that there would be consequences."

Why had Christen's stomach dropped as she was hearing this?

"Really, this is all in your best interest, I promise you. I wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize your career or your happiness, but there were some sacrifices."

"Paul, what are you talking about?" Christen thought that giving up Tobin would be the _only_ sacrifice. There were more?

"Christen, the reason why I let you go see Tobin last night... it was so you could say goodbye. You're leaving."

Her breath caught in her throat.

And not in the good way.

"Leaving?" Christen finally repeated, her voice coming out in a squeak.

"Come on, Christen, please. You knew from the beginning that you and Tobin couldn't stay together. Why would you hold onto this relationship or this team when neither will work out? It's not a productive way to spend your time or energy. You're like a shark, Christen, you've got to keep moving all the time. You don't want to sink."

His words stung, but Christen knew deep down that Paul was right.

Paul finally unzipped his bag and pulled out a stack of papers and a pen. It was so similar to what Jill had done a year and a half earlier that it made Christen's head spin. He sighed as he finally gave her the news—

"I struck a deal with the coach from Tyresö. She'd love for you to come play with them again."

TOBIN WAS EXCITED THAT IT SEEMED CHRISTEN HAD CHANGED HER MIND. Just like Tobin had called Christen out to Providence Park in the night, Christen was doing the same now, this time asking Tobin come to Toyota Park. Nowadays they needed neutral meeting locations to avoid press. It had become their new normal.

The feeling of breaking into a stadium at night was always the same. Tobin hardly ever broke the rules, but when it came to football, she couldn't help herself. She was pleased to see Christen already waiting for her at center field, just like last time.

"Hey," she offered as she came closer to Christen, whose face was a sight for sore eyes, even under the harsh floodlights. "What's up? Have you reconsidered my offer? I knew you wouldn't be able to turn it down."

But Christen wasn't so pleased. When Tobin looked closer, it almost seemed that Christen had been crying.

"Christen, angel, what happened? Are you alright?" Tobin was concerned now. She hadn't cried much since they'd been together. Only in thunderstorms. Tobin reached out a hand to hold Christen's face, yet to her surprise, Christen pushed it away.

All she said was, "No, Tobin."

Tobin was mystified. "What? What do you mean?"

"I..." Christen took a deep, shaky breath. The excitement of their trespassing had dissolved within Tobin. Now she was really anxious about what Christen was about to say.

"It's time we stopped doing this, Tobin."

Tobin felt like she'd just taken a punch to the gut.

She couldn't respond right away or even process what Christen was saying. Eventually, she croaked—

"Why?"

Frustrated, Christen tossed her head back and sighed. "Because, Tobin," she explained, her voice irritated, "we knew from the start that this wouldn't last. It _couldn't_ last, actually. And... I got traded. Back to Tyresö. And I accepted, because honestly, I don't know what my future with the national team looks like, and—"

"Take me with you," Tobin blurted out.

"What?!"

"Please, Christen," she begged. "Bring me to Sweden. We would have such a great time together. We would totally, like, _own_ their league. It would be so much fun. You and me."

"Tobin Heath, what about this is not getting through to you?" Christen snapped. She ran an angry hand through her hair as she said, "We can't be together. Period. End of sentence. It's really, really simple."

Where was this all coming from? Tobin had never seen Christen like this before, during or before their relationship.

"Could you at least tell me what the hell is going on with you?" Tobin asked.

"Fine," Christen spat. "Look, when Paul and I had dinner tonight, he basically said that you and I won't work. Not now, and probably not ever. He said we should give up."

"Paul doesn't know what we have," Tobin cried. Tears had sprung to her eyes already. "Paul doesn't know how much we've worked for this, what we've given up for this. He doesn't know how much I love you."

She paused before she continued loudly, feeling exasperated, "Do _you_ even know how much I love you, Christen?"

Christen bit down on her lower lip which Tobin hadn't realized until now had been quivering.

So it wasn't so easy for Christen either.

"Please, Tobin," Christen pleaded quietly, shaking her head, taking the smallest of steps backwards, "Don't make this hard for me. You know I love you. I always will."

"No, no, no, Christen, I... Christen Press, please, don't leave. Come on. We can make this work. You know we can. Come on. Come back."

"No, Tobin," Christen exhaled, continuing to walk backwards. "We can't. It's... it's not up to me or you anymore. It's just not going—" Christen took a swipe at her misty eyes. "It's just not going to happen."

Tobin began to walk forward to catch up to her, arms outstretched, desperately wanting to grab her, pull her back in and hold her close. "Christen, no," she called out. "You... you can't leave me like this." 

Tobin watched tears drip down Christen's face as she weakly said the words—

"But what if I have to?"

And after wiping her face once more, she turned her back to Tobin and broke into a run.

Tobin cursed herself for not being fast enough to catch up.

Christen was gone. She was really, truly gone. She wasn't coming back.

Feeling helpless, Tobin almost collapsed onto the pitch, her back on the grass, bleary eyes gazing at the stars. She was able to see her own breath in the air as she struggled to recuperate.

Running always sucked, but running in the cold was even worse.

And running in the cold while crying and in the middle of losing the love of your life was probably the worst pain Tobin had ever felt.

"Goodbye, Christen Press," Tobin whispered aloud to no one in particular. She knew no one could hear her, and she didn't want anyone to. She repeated herself once more through a sigh as she closed her eyes—

"Goodbye."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned, my dear readers—
> 
> If you can wait for me, I promise you that this is not the end.  
> 
> 
> **OVEREXPOSED PART 2 coming late 2020/early 2021.**
> 
> See you then ;)


End file.
